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JIM SPURLING 
M I L L M A N 








































































































































































































































































































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HIS LEGS 


WERE COVERED, ALMOST UP TO THE KNEES, 
LARGE ROCK 


BY A 




JIM SPURLING 
MILLMAN 


ALBERT Wr TOLMAN 

Author of K ‘ 

“Jim Spurukg, Fisherman” 


With Illustrations by 
BERT N. SALG 



HARPER fcf BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 

NEW YORK AND LONDON 



g)Cl. A627807 

H0U19 7I 



Jim Spurling, Millman 


Copyright, 1921, by Harper & Brothers 
Printed in the United States of America 
K-v 




.r' 


MY FRIEND 

WILLIAM PITT FESSENDEN ROBIE 



CONTENTS 


CHAP. PAGE 

I. Plan and Plot . i 

II. A Vest-pocket Sawmill 19 

III. Breaking In 36 

IV. From Stump to Stick 51 

V. First Aid 63 

VI. Unmasked 78 

VII. Thunder and Lightning 89 

VIII. Trouble Begins 105 

IX. Before the Judge 121 

X. Percy Wins a Prize 138 

XI. More Trouble 154 

XII. Injunction Number Two 168 

XIII. The Head-hunter 184 

XIV. Silent Witnesses 195 

XV. Ireson’s Ride 210 

XVI. Fighting Fire 226 

XVII. Down but Not Out 237 

XVIII. Jim Bests Legore 247 

XIX. Hands Up 261 

XX. Three of a Kind 273 

XXI. Hare and Hounds 287 

XXII. Half a Million Feet 299 





















ILLUSTRATIONS 


His Legs Were Covered, Almost Up to the Knees, by 

A LARGE Rock Frontispiece 

This Time His Head Struck the Mark with a Fearful 

BUMP Facing p. 148 

On the Other Side, Percy, in Reply to Lawton’s Quer- 
ies, Flatly Denied Shooting the Animal ... “ 190 

“Not a T-t-tut-tut-tooth in His Head" . . . . “ 218 

“I’ll Give Ye a Hidin’ That You’ll Remember All 

Your Life" “ 256 

“I Want Five Hundred in Cash, and You’re Going to 
Get It for Me, Grannitt, Before I Leave This 
Office" . 


284 


I 



JIM SPURLING 
M I L L M A N 



JIM SPURLING 
M I L L M A N 


i 

PLAN AND PLOT 

TIM SPURLING had one weakness. The big 
Varsity catcher was obsessed with the hallucina- 
tion that he could play the flute. So on a warm June 
afternoon the melancholy notes of “ The Last Rose 
of Summer ” floated out from the third story of 
North Hall over the Warburton College campus. 

Oo-oo-oo-ooh . . . 

The mournful strains fell dismally on the ears of 
Ralph Cartledge, a peppery little Sophomore, who 
was passing under North, carrying a paper bag of 
bananas. 

Oo-oo-oo-ooh . . . 

Sophomore blood had not yet turned to ditch 
water. Cartledge halted and raised a yell. 

“Choke that off, you Freshman! Oh, choke that 
off!” 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

Extracting from the bag a particularly mellow 
banana, he sent it hurtling through the open window. 
It barely missed the musician’s nose and spatted 
against the opposite wall, close to the head of Jim’s 
roommate, Percy Whittington, who was just enter- 
ing, flushed from tennis. 

Jim removed the flute from his mouth and leaned 
out over the sill. 

“Did you want me, Cartledge?” he inquired, 
pleasantly. “I’ll be right down.” 

Cartledge decamped hastily with the rest of his 
bananas. He weighed fifty pounds less than the 
catcher, and was built accordingly. Jim resumed his 
painstaking practice. 

Oo-oo-oo-ooh . . . 

Percy could stand it no longer. 

“For Heaven’s sake, Jim!” he exploded, “give us 
anything but that ‘ Hark-from-th e-tombs ’ stuff. 
There ought to be a law against it. I don’t blame 
Cartledge for throwing that banana. I’d have 
thrown something worse if they didn’t come so high 
a dozen.” 

Jim grew red. The flute was his tender point. 

“I’m sorry my barbaric mouthing grates on your 
fine Italian ear, Percy,” he observed, rather stiffly. 
“I didn’t realize your musical taste was so fas- 
tidious.” 

“I’m not bragging on my Italian ear,” retorted 
Percy. “It isn’t so much the flute I object to, as it 
is the kind of stuff you play. Take that last thing! 

2 


PLAN AND PLOT 


It’s the tune the old cow died of. They used it as 
an extreme torture in the days of the Spanish Inqui- 
sition. Why don’t you give us ‘The Campbells Are 
Coming,’ or ‘Johnny Cope,’ or ‘Garry Owen’? It 
wouldn’t cost any more, and it might ease the last 
moments of your victims.” 

Jim looked provoked, then laughed. 

“All right, Perce! I’ll put away the instrument of 
torture for to-day. But mark me! I’m going to 
learn to play the flute. When I start anything I 
always intend to see it through.” 

Percy sighed resignedly. He knew Spurling’s 
tenacity. 

“If you feel that way about it, Jim, I put up my 
hands. There’s no hope for the rest of us, or the 
flute, either. Guess I’ll take on the ukulele! I’ve 
got to protect myself somehow.” 

He glanced out over the campus. 

“Here’s Budge!” he shouted. “Back from his 
week’s trip home. Oh, Budge! Come on up!” 

Roger Lane presently opened the door. Dropping 
his suitcase, he mopped his forehead. 

“Whew! That grip must weigh about a ton. 
Those three flights haven’t grown any shorter since 
I’ve been away. How’s everybody and every- 
thing?” 

He shook hands with Percy and Jim. 

“O. K., so far as heard from,” rejoined Percy. 

There was a moment of silence. Lane hesitated, 
while the others watched him keenly. 

3 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

“ Something on your mind, Budge?” inquired Jim. 
“Let’s have it!” 

“Boys,” said Lane, earnestly, “you know we’ve 
been trying all the spring to decide what we’d do 
this summer? Well, I’ve found just the thing we 
want. How’d you like to work in a vest-pocket 
sawmill?” 

“ What’s a vest-pocket sawmill?” 

“A portable mill! One of the kind that’s moved 
from place to place to saw lumber that can’t be 
reached in any other way. There’s hundreds of ’em 
scattered over northern New England, and they em- 
ploy thousands of men. It’s a healthy, outdoor life; 
and there’d be good money in it. We could clear up 
among us considerably more than we did on Tar- 
paulin last year, and not work any harder. Of course 
it ’d be entirely different from the salt water, but 
I believe we’d all like it. A little quiet, perhaps, 
back there in the pine woods; but we’d probably be 
too busy to need much amusement. It ought to put 
us in fine shape every way to start Sophomore year. 
What d’you say?” 

“Sounds well,” returned Jim, “but I can see some 
objections.” 

“Fire away,” invited Budge. 

“In the first place, where’s your mill? How do 
you know that we four greenhorns could get a chance 
in one and feel sure we could hold the job down all 
summer? If we didn’t suit the man who hired us, 
he might let us go after the first week. What then?” 

4 


PLAN, AND PLOT 

Budge smiled. 

“He wouldn’t let you go — at least, not so long as 
you behaved yourselves. I can vouch for that.” 

“How can you?” 

“Fm the man!” 

Jim and Percy stared at him in amazement. 

“Sure thing!” asseverated Budge. “Now listen! 
A year ago my father’s cousin, Maria Peavey of Bar- 
ham, back in Madison County, died after a long ill- 
ness. She owned one of the finest lots of white pine 
left in the state of Maine. Lumbermen down that 
way have been making sheep’s eyes at it for years, 
but she wouldn’t allow an ax or a saw to touch it. 
All her heirs were cousins living outside the state. 
A few months ago they got together and decided that 
the lot had better be cut over right away. There’s 
one trouble with standing timber — if a fire gets into 
it, it’s gone. And they had a bad scare about that 
pine last August. So father came down from New 
Hampshire in April to look the ground over. A man 
named Legore offered to buy the trees on the stump; 
but the deal didn’t go through, for he wanted both 
ends and the middle of the bargain. So father leased 
a second-hand, portable mill, had it set up on the 
lot, and arranged with Oramel Cardon to saw the 
lumber. But Cardon backed out before he’d fairly 
started. Father made another trip to Barham, and 
entered into a new agreement with Jethro Birkett.. 
Two weeks ago a letter came saying that Birkett 
had thrown up the job, too. On top of that Legore 
2 5 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

wrote, making a little better offer, but nowhere near 
what the lot is worth. Still, father was on the point 
of closing the deal, for he was too busy with his own 
affairs to put any more time on the Barham property. 
Just then I got home and learned what was up. I 
saw our chance in a second. I’d rather have waited 
till we could have threshed the thing out together; 
but it had to be decided right off. I knew we couldn’t 
go to Tarpaulin this season, for your uncle Tom’s 
fishing there himself. So I had father turn down 
Legore and told him we’d tackle the proposition. 
How does that hit you, Jim?” 

There was a deep pucker in Jim’s brow. 

“ Doesn’t look very good to me,” he said at last. 

“Why not?” 

“Who of us four knows anything about lumber?” 

“I do. My father’s owned a portable mill for 
years, and I’ve worked round one off and on ever 
since I was twelve. We’d have to hire a sawyer and 
a marker; there are two experienced men at home 
who’ve promised to come with me. The rest of 
the crowd we can get on the ground. It hurts my 
modesty to say it, but I know the business from A 
to Z; and if we all take hold and pull together I’m 
sure we can make a big success this summer.” 

Jim’s lips tightened, and he shook his head slowly. 

“I don’t like to upset your plans, but .... noth- 
ing doing for me on the sawmill! I know fish and 
lobsters and- the salt water; and I know enough to 
know that I don’t know anything about wood, 
6 


PLAN AND PLOT 


except that it’s useful to knock on occasionally and 
that some people’s heads are made of it. The mill 
appeals to me just about as much as Tarpaulin did 
to Perce at the beginning of last summer. You’ll 
have to count me out of that deal, Budge.” 

Lane’s face showed his disappointment, but he 
refused to acknowledge defeat. 

“I’m not going to give you up yet, Jim. Sleep 
on it. You may feel different to-morrow.” 

“I’ll think it over,” conceded Jim; but his tone 
was not encouraging. 

Lane picked up his suitcase and started for the 
door. 

“Well, I must be getting over to the room to see 
how Throppy’s made out camping by his lonesome.” 

“Oh, by the way, Budge!” exclaimed Percy. “Doc 
Dalton asked me to tell you to drop in as soon as 
you got back.” 

“What does he want?” Lane did not appear 
surprised. 

“Don’t know! He didn’t say. Only he seemed 
pretty serious.” 

“I’ll run over to his office now.” 

“I’m sorry to discourage Budge,” said Jim to 
Percy, after Lane had gone out. “But it looks to 
me like a leap in the dark. I don’t know any more 
about lumber than you did about fish last year. 
And that’s saying something!” 

For a half hour the two were busy over their 
books. 


7 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

“Here comes Budge again !” remarked Percy, sud- 
denly. “Wonder what the trouble is. He’s got a 
face a mile long!” 

A minute later Lane entered their room. Percy 
had not exaggerated the concern displayed on his 
chum’s features. He came to the point at once. 

“Fellows, I’ve some bad news. It’s about Throppy. 
You know that he’s been working hard all winter 
in that old physical laboratory. I’ve seen for some 
time that he wasn’t as well as he ought to be, so 
just before I went away I made him promise he’d 
let the doctor look him over. Dalton didn’t give 
him much satisfaction; wanted to see me first. I’ve 
just had a good talk with him. Throppy’s left lung 
is affected; and, unless the trouble is stopped now, 
it’s liable to grow serious.” 

He paused. Jim and Percy glanced at each other 
soberly. The unwelcome tidings had put an ef- 
fectual damper on their spirits. After a moment of 
silence, Roger spoke again. 

“I’m glad to have the chance of talking this 
over with you, while Throppy isn’t here. If we four 
are to stick together this summer, we must find a 
place that ’ll be good for him. Of course we mustn’t 
count on him for any hard work; he ought to do 
only as much as will help him to get well, and not 
a stitch more.” 

There was another interval of silence. Jim was 
the first to break it. 

“One thing’s sure,” he acknowledged. “That 


PLAN AND PLOT 


cuts out the coast. The fog and salt air’d never suit 
Throppy’s lungs.” 

He sat thinking with knitted brow, while the 
others watched him breathlessly. Finally he looked 
toward Lane. 

‘‘Budge,” he confessed, “I guess your scheme’s a 
good one, after all.” 

It was the first time Jim had ever changed his 
mind so quickly; but in this case he had a strong 
reason. 

“The dry pine air’d be just the thing for Throppy,” 
responded Budge, eagerly. “I’m sure he’d be all 
right by fall.” 

“But what about an old webfoot like me?” con- 
tinued Jim. “I’d be clumsy as a duck on land. Do 
you think I’d be worth my salt?” 

“I’ll risk you, Jim,” said Roger. “How about you, 
Perce? Care to stack up with us this summer?” 

“Sure!” affirmed Percy, promptly. “You couldn’t 
drive me away from this bunch. If you can stand 
me, I can stand you.” 

“You’ll have to be the man to swing this thing, 
Budge,” said Jim. “It’s going to take some money. 
How’ll we raise it ?” 

“I can get J. P., senior, to back us for any amount 
we want,” offered Percy. “He doesn’t think much 
of my business head; but you and Budge certainly 
made a strike with him last summer.” 

“No, Perce,” refused Lane. “Much obliged to 
you and J. P.; but we sink or swim without him in 
9 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

this. I’ve figured everything all out. According to 
my estimates we can handle the proposition for 
considerably under five thousand dollars. My father 
owns a third of the lot; and he and the other owners ’ll 
go security for us to borrow what money we need. 
As soon as our first hundred thousand feet of boards 
are on the sticking ground, we’ll sell ’em for cash, 
and begin to pay back what we owe. We needn’t 
have too much in the air at any one time.” 

“What kind of a place is Barham?” inquired Jim. 

“Father says it’s just an ordinary country town 
among the mountains; it’s in the little woods, not 
the big ones. There are scattered farms, and a small 
village with a crossroads store and post office, where 
everybody trades and gossips. Near the lot is a 
lake that ’d give us a chance to swim and fish after 
working hours. While we’d have to stick pretty 
close to business, we shouldn’t intend to kill our- 
selves. But of course, if we take hold at all, we want 
to do the job up brown.” 

“Where could I fit in?” asked Jim, doubtfully. 
“When it comes to swinging an ax, I’m as green as 
grass.” 

“A little practice ’ll make you a top-notch roller; 
and I’ll be pitman.” 

“What about me?” queried Percy. 

“I thought you might do the firing. Think you 
could stand it, Perce, eh ? The heir of all the Mont- 
morencies getting his lily-white hands stuck full of 
splinters stoking a steam boiler?” 

io 


PLAN AND PLOT 


A dull red crept slowly up into the light hair 
behind Percy’s ears. 

“Once and for all, Budge, cut out the Mont- 
morency stuff! I’m not to blame for my father’s 
being a millionaire. You rubbed it into me hard 
enough last summer on Tarpaulin to last me all 
my life. I’m in earnest about this.” 

Lane looked at him a moment. 

“All right, old man! I apologize. I won’t do it 
again. Does that square things between us?” 

“Sure!” accepted Percy, heartily. 

They shook hands. Suddenly Jim made a warning 
gesture. 

“’Sh-h!” he cautioned. “Here comes Throppy 
up the main path!” 

Stevens ascended the stairs, and entered the room 
rather languidly. His step dragged and his cheeks 
lacked the color natural to his age. 

“Have a seat, Throppy,” invited Jim with an 
animation that was a trifle forced. “ The council 
fire is kindled and we’re holding a powwow on our 
summer’s work. Tell him about the snarl you’re 
trying to tangle us up in, Budge!” 

Lane went over his plan briefly, and Stevens 
listened without comment. He scanned their faces 
as Roger finished. 

“I’ll go, if you want me, fellows,” was all he said. 

“Want you? Of course we do!” protested the 
others in chorus. “We couldn’t get along without 
you and your violin.” 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

‘Til bring my flute,” offered Jim. 

“Then that bars me out,” ejaculated Percy. 
“I’ve suffered enough.” 

“We want to go into this thing with our eyes wide 
open,” resumed Budge. “If you fellows have any 
questions to ask or objections to make, now’s the 
time for us to take ’em up.” 

They fell into long and serious talk. 

At precisely that moment, seventy-five miles north- 
east of Warburton as the crow flies, another con- 
ference of an entirely different sort was taking place 
in a country law office. 

In a dingy, low-ceilinged room, at a dusty table 
littered with papers, sat two men, talking earnestly. 
One was forty or thereabouts, thick-set, red faced 
and bull necked, with a strong jaw and prominent 
teeth, browbeating, forceful, filled to overflowing 
with the health that comes from life in the open; 
his name was H. Chesley Legore. The lawyer, Milo 
Grannitt, was of uncertain age, thin lipped and 
smooth shaven, with leathery features, cold, fishy, 
blue eyes, and scanty, straw-colored hair. His face 
bespoke him shrewd, unscrupulous, and merciless. 

“Well, Milo,” said the bull-necked man, “have 
you heard the latest about the Peavey lot?” 

The lawyer blinked his watery eyes. Scratching 
a match under the table, he lighted a half-smoked 
cigar. 

“I’ve heard some talk,” he ventured, conservative- 
12 


PLAN AND PLOT 


ly, “but I don’t know whether it’s the latest or not. 
Man named Lane handling the property, isn’t there?” 

“Yes. I tried to dicker with him about the lumber, 
but we couldn’t seem to come to terms.” 

“That’s strange!” interjected Grannitt, drawing 
at his cigar. 

Legore kept on, not heeding the other’s sarcasm. 

“Then he patched up a deal with Oramel Cardon; 
but I soota made Oramel see which side of his bread 
was buttered; an’ he was taken just sick enough to 
give him an excuse for pullin’ out. Next, Lane tied 
up with Jethro Birkett; but some kind friend re- 
minded Jethro of the mortgage I held on his son-in- 
law’s farm, an’ he quit, too. By that time I thought 
Lane might be ready to listen to reason, so I made 
him a mighty fair offer. Guess he’d have taken it, 
but just then his son came home from college an’ 
tipped the kettle over. So Lane turned me down ; an’ 
this boy an’ some of his college chums are cornin’ 
to Barham to pass a pleasant vacation strippin’ the 
Peavey lot.” 

Milo, puffing away, eyes half closed, nodded under- 
standingly. Legore was waxing indignant. 

“Now I’ve never been to college, nor studied 
Greek or Latin. I haven’t stepped inside a school- 
house since I was fourteen; an’ I haven’t read a 
book for five years. They call me ‘Hard Cash’ 
Legore, an’ I’m not ashamed of the name. I may 
not know much of anything else, but I do know 
lumber. I can figger a stand of pine an’ come within 

13 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

a thousand feet of what it ’ll saw out. There hasn’t 
been a man but me run a mill in this township for ten 
years. Anybody who knows me an’ how I feel, 
knows better than to try it. My lines take in just 
twenty-five square miles. There’s Spring in Easton, 
an’ Brown in Stowe an’ Leadbetter in Parcherville 
an’ Murray in Unity. I keep off* their toes, an’ they’ve 
learned to keep off mine.” 

Milo’s lips curved quizzically round his cigar, but 
he did not interrupt the angry lumberman. Legore 
was fast working himself into a temper. 

“There isn’t another lot like that in the state o’ 
Maine. It’s a pure stand o’ white pine, tall an’ 
sound an’ straight an’ han’some. I’ve had my eye 
on it ten years an’ more, waitin’ for Maria Peavey 
to die, so I could git it. An’ if a passel of green 
young sports think they can jump in here an’ snap 
it out from under my very nose, take the cream o’ 
the cream, an’ leave me the skim milk . . 

He ground out an oath and slammed his fist down 
on the table. The pens and pencils rattled, and the 
dusty inkstand danced. Under his sparse brows 
Grannitt was watching him like a hawk. 

“I don’t see how you can stop ’em from jumping 
in, Ches,” he commented. 

“That’s just it. I don’t intend to stop ’em. I’m 
goin’ to let ’em jump in, an’ then I’ll jump on. I’m 
goin’ to set back an’ wait till all they’ve got an’ 
more is tied up so tight they can’t git it out; an’ 
then I’ll take a hand in the game. I’ll teach ’em a 
14 


PLAN AND PLOT 


lesson they’ll remember all their lives. Let ’em go 
ahead an’ start in good shape! There’ll be so much 
less for me to do when I take the thing over.” 

He drew a long breath. 

“That ’ll be my principal business this summer, 
to knock those fellers out an’ git hold o’ that lot. 
So long as Mis’ Peavey was alive my hands were 
tied; for the town wouldn’t stand for my troublin’ 
a widder. But now she’s gone, nobody’s got any 
interest protectin’ strangers; so I’m goin’ to cut 
loose an’ do about as I please. Those boys’ll have 
more different kinds o’ world’s grief than they’ve 
ever dreamed of. An’ I won’t have to lie awake 
nights thinkin’ up ways to start it for ’em, neither. 
There’s lots of it lyin’ round loose, ready made. The 
powder’s there; all it needs is somebody to strike a 
match, an’ I’ve got a whole pocketful.” 

“Guess you can stir up trouble for ’em, if anybody 
can, Ches.” 

“You bet I can! I’ll skin ’em alive. They’ll find 
the road from stump to stick a mighty rough one to 
travel. There’s spikes in trees, an’ saws breakin’, 
an’ horses failin’ lame, an’ men gittin’ so full o’ hard 
cider they can’t tell whether they’re cornin’ or goin’, 
an’ fires, an’ all sorts of accidents you might naterally 
expect would happen to a gang o’ raw boys, as well 
as some you mightn’t expect. Nice, quiet summer. 
Oh yes! I’ll look out for that. Lively? I should say 
so! I’ll guarantee things ’ll happen so fast on the 
Peavey lot that those ducks’ll get cricks in their 
is 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

necks lookin’ over their shoulders an’ wonderin’ 
what’s goin’ to hit ’em next.” 

He chuckled grimly. 

“But won’t old Hi Merrithew be crazier than ever, 
when he sees those pines goin’ into boards ! It ’ll 
make him realize what ’ll happen to his own lot 
soon’s he’s through.” 

His veins swelled. His red face grew redder. 

“Now, Milo, I need you an’ you need me. The 
case ’s just this. Here’s two or three thousand clean 
dollars cornin’ to somebody off that tract before the 
first of October. The question is who’s to git it, 
you an’ I, or those fresh young cubs o’ strangers. 
You know me, Milo, an’ I know you. There’s no 
foolishness about us. We’ve summered an’ wintered 
together a good many years, an’ we’ve always stood 
shoulder to shoulder. There’s many a deal we’ve 
handed out to the boys that’s been pretty raw; but 
it’s cooked ’em just the same. You’ve planned an’ 
I ’ve carried through. It’s my business to git into 
trouble an’ yours to git me out of it. I’ve never been 
in a scrape yet that you haven’t been able to pull me 
through; an’ we both know I’ve squeezed through 
some pretty slim knotholes. You’re the smartest, 
slipperiest, trickiest lawyer in the whole state of 
Maine. That’s why I hire you. I’d cheat you out 
of your last dollar, if I could, an’ you’d do the 
same by me. That’s business. The only difference 
between us an’ some other people is that we have 
to talk plain to each other. Each of us knows so 
16 


PLAN AND PLOT 


much about the other that we don’t dare to do any 
other way. Tve sometimes wondered which of us 
two was the biggest scamp, honest I have, Milo! 
I wouldn’t dare to die, leavin’ you above ground, 
for fear of what you’d do to my estate. Between 
us, if we hadn’t been tied up so tight in so many 
sink-or-swim deals, I wouldn’t trust you for a minit. 
Either of us could put the other in state prison, 
but neither ’ll ever do it, because, if one went, the 
other’d have to go, too. Well, let’s come back to 
the Peavey lot!” 

He leaned over the table. 

“Mark me, Milo! When I start after anything, 
I always intend to git it. Now that’s my lumber! 
I’ve law an’ reason on my side; you’re the law, an’ 
the reason is I want it. Tell me just how far it ’ll 
be safe for me to go, an’ I’ll go that far an’ then some. 
An’ you’ll git your slice. Is it a deal?” 

Grannitt’s cigar had burned out. He tossed it 
into the waste basket and rose, yawning. 

“Don’t worry about me, Ches! Of course it’s a 
deal. No need to start your pulse galloping over a 
little thing like that ! Some day you’re liable to snuff 
out with apoplexy. Sure I’m with you ... to the 
hilt! I’m practicing law for the same reason that 
you’re sawing lumber — to make money. And I don’t 
care much how I do it, so long as I skip state prison, 
and get the money. I wouldn’t say that outside, 
but it’s true. And what’s more, a good many others 
are doing the same thing; only they haven’t the nerve 

17 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

to acknowledge it. We’ll give those youngsters a 
run for their dollars. The problem is to make ’em 
so sick of the lumber business that they’ll wish 
they’d never seen a board and ’ll throw the whole 
thing up in disgust. We’ve got the advantage of 
surprise. We’re inside the breastworks. We know 
the ground and they don’t. We can frighten ’em 
out, and not half try. Green fellows of that age 
haven’t any sand. Well, let’s call it a day and go 
to supper!” 

Slamming the cracked door, he turned the key 
gratingly in the lock, and followed Legore along the 
dilapidated entry and down the creaking stairs. 

A half hour afterward the conference in the col- 
lege room at Warburton came to a close. The enter- 
prise had been thoroughly canvassed and the senti- 
ment in its favor was unanimous; but Percy felt that 
some further formality was necessary. Leaping upon 
his desk, he cupped his hand behind his ear. 

“Do I hear any motion?” he shouted. 

“I move we spend the next three months on the 
Peavey lot in Barham,” proposed Lane. 

“Second the motion,” contributed Jim. 

“All persons in favor manifest it in the usual 
manner,” barked Percy. “Contrary minded. . . . 
The ayes have it!” 

But if they had known of the colloquy just held 
in Grannitt’s office, and what it w r ould mean to them 
during the coming summer, the ayes might not have 
been so enthusiastic. 

18 


II 


A VEST-POCKET SAWMILL 

J UNE 1 2th found Jim, Budge, Throppy, and 
Percy on the train, bound for Barham. Their 
Sophomore examinations lay behind them and all 
had passed successfully. Under ordinary circum- 
stances the trip would have been a hilarious one; but 
Throppy’s poor health and the unfamiliar enter- 
prise on which they were embarked had a sobering 
effect upon their minds. 

With them were Otis Briggs and ’Gene Doggett, 
New Hampshire men from Lane’s native town. 
Briggs was a sandy-complexioned, solidly built 
Yankee of about forty, with twinkling blue eyes and 
a humorous mouth overhung by a drooping yellow 
mustache; he talked and joked freely. His chum, 
Doggett, was in appearance and disposition almost 
his exact opposite — tall, lank, dark and taciturn. 
Each was an expert in his line, Briggs as sawyer, 
Doggett as marker. 

“Wouldn’t have dared to tackle this job if I 
hadn’t been sure of getting Ote and ’Gene to come 
with us,” confided Roger to Jim. “Ote’s been sawing 
lumber ever since he was a boy. He can set up a 

19 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

mill and make all kinds of repairs; and at a pinch 
he could jump in and fill the place of any man about 
the plant. ’Gene’s almost as handy. The two of ’em 
make a team that’s hard to beat. They’ll teach us 
the business. I’m glad, on Throppy’s account, we’ve 
got started early; he doesn’t look any too good to me.” 

Stevens was sitting alone two seats in front of 
Budge and Jim. From his languid attitude it was 
easy to see that the ride was tiring him. Now and 
then he coughed slightly. Jim’s face clouded. 

“He’ll feel better, after he’s been outdoors 
awhile,” he said; but his voice held a note of ap- 
prehension. 

The conductor came along the aisle. 

“Tickets!” he demanded, briskly. 

The boys surrendered their pasteboards. 

“I want a rebate,” petitioned Percy. 

The conductor stared at him. 

“Why?” 

Percy pointed to Jim. 

“I’m thirty pounds lighter than he is. It doesn’t 
cost the railroad near so much to haul me.” 

The man in blue coat and brass buttons passed on. 

“If you classify yourself by your weight,” he 
flung back, “you’ve taken the wrong train. You 
ought to have had yourself loaded on the freight. 
Tickets!” 

“One on you, Perce,” laughed Lane. 

Percy touched his chest, giving the fencer’s sign. 

“Hit!” he acknowledged. 

20 


A VEST-POCKET SAWMILL 


Their seventy-mile ride at last came to an end, 
and they disembarked at ten o’clock at the little 
country station of Edginton. They were the only 
passengers to alight. Their baggage was put off, and 
the train soon disappeared round a curve. 

“ Stage for Barham!” 

The voice came from a short, gray-haired, bow- 
legged man in straw hat and linen duster. 

‘‘That means us!” said Budge. 

The stage driver scrutinized them with a gimlet- 
like gaze. He seemed to have been aware of their 
coming. 

“My name’s Zenas Strout,” he volunteered. “So 
you’re the fellows who ’re goin’ to lumber on the 
Peavey lot, hey?” 

A peculiar smile, almost a grin, wrinkled his lips, 
while he contemplated them with a long, curious, 
appraising stare, as if he were taking their measure 
and comparing them with some unseen personality. 

“This way!” he directed, curtly. 

Following him round the end of the station, the 
boys came upon a battered, nondescript vehicle, 
half coach and half buckboard, standing beside the 
platform; to it were harnessed a pair of stout, gray 
horses. 

“That’s the stage,” said Zenas. “Ain’t much on 
looks, but it’s got two redeemin’ features: it ’ll hold 
everythin’ an’ everybody you can pile onto it, an’ 
there’s always room for one more. Lend us a hand 
with your duffle!” 

3 


21 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

They soon loaded on the baggage, including a 
crated, second-hand motor cycle which Budge, fore- 
seeing that it might be useful, had bought at a low 
figure. Everybody clambered aboard, Zenas spoke 
to his horses, and the stage started on its twelve- 
mile trip to Barham. 

It was a beautiful June day. Drifting islands of 
white clouds were scattered over the blue sky. A 
gentle breeze was blowing, and the balmy air was 
redolent with the scent of spring blossoms. Flights 
of robins rose and alighted in the pastures that lined 
the road; the brisk tapping of an occasional wood- 
pecker resounded through the hard-wood growth; 
while frequent lines of flapping black crows made 
the landscape re-echo with the nasal tremolo of 
their cawing. 

“Oso’s cousins, talking to you, Perce! Remember 
the piece of steak he stole from you that first night 
on Tarpaulin ?” said Jim. “ Wonder how Uncle 
Tom’s doing with his traps! I almost wish I was 
down there with him.” 

A shadow crossed Lane’s unusually sober face. 
He did not like to hear Jim talk in that way. 

The cultivated fields and pastures fell behind. 
The road, snakelike in its crookedness, became rougher 
and more hilly. Now and then they passed through 
dark-green, shady tracts of second-growth spruce 
and pine, successors to the giants that had once 
towered over the country. Briggs and Doggett, 
scanning these trees with professional eyes, com- 
22 


A VEST-POCKET SAWMILL 


merited on their size and the amount of lumber they 
would make; while Lane and the stage driver con- 
tributed an occasional remark. Jim and the other 
two boys were silent. The woods were new to them. 
So they used their eyes instead of their tongues, and 
kept their ears open to catch what they could from 
the talk of the more experienced men. 

By degrees the scenery grew still wilder and 
rougher. The road climbed steep hills and wound 
among mountains of very respectable size. Finally, 
on a bare, lofty summit Zenas brought his sweaty, 
panting horses to a willing stop. He pointed with 
his whip. 

“ ‘On Jordan’s stormy banks I stand an’ cast a 
wistful eye,’ ” he quoted. “That’s Barham basin, 
straight ahead! Yonder to the right’s Nebo Mount- 
tain; you can see Mount Washington from it on a 
clear day. That cucumber-shaped sheet of water 
at its foot’s Lake Agawam; it’s four miles long, and 
almost two across at the widest place. The Peavey 
lot comes down to its northern end.” 

The boys looked with all their eyes. Before them 
stretched a broad, saucer-shaped hollow, hemmed in 
by low mountains and comprising about twenty- 
five square miles, mostly wooded, but dotted here 
and there with white houses surrounded by farms and 
pastures. At the base of the hills on its western edge 
a little village clustered round a pointed church spire. 

“Barham Four Corners!” said Zenas. “That’s 
where you’ll do your shopping. Giddap, Bill!” 

23 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

Twenty minutes later they rolled up to the cross- 
roads, and unloaded themselves and their belongings 
on the platform of Holway & Benner’s store, which 
was also the post office. 

Barham Four Corners was a typical Maine country 
village of perhaps two hundred people. Like many 
similar villages, it was much smaller than it had been 
years before. Three general stores, a wheelwright 
and blacksmith’s shop, and a gristmill on Borden 
Stream did most of the business of the surrounding 
region. There was also a lawyer’s office, bearing the 
sign, “Milo Grannitt.” Two small churches and a 
grange hall ministered to the religious and social life 
of the community. The boys looked about with 
great interest. Barham Four Corners was to repre- 
sent civilization to them for the next three months. 

Their arrival apparently occasioned no surprise 
to the score of men and boys lounging about the 
crossroads just before the dinner hour. Nods, winks, 
and nudges, accompanied by low talk and some 
laughter, passed between the onlookers. Across the 
street on the sidewalk, under the lawyer’s sign, stood 
two men, one dressed in black, tallish, stoop-shoul- 
dered, and rather cadaverous; the other, rougher- 
looking, burly, red-faced, and clad in a brown checked 
suit. After watching the boys for a short time, the 
two turned and entered the stairway leading to 
Grannitt’s office. 

A few minutes in Holway & Benner’s gave the 
budding lumbermen the information they needed. 

24 


A VEST-POCKET SAWMILL 

Roger, accompanied by Briggs and Doggett, went 
for dinner to John Creamer’s, a few hundred feet 
from the comer; while Throppy, Percy, and Jim took 
their suitcases over to Ezra Barker’s, about as far 
in the opposite direction. They arranged to stop 
at these houses until their camps should have been 
built in the woods near the mill. 

After dinner they hired two teams and drove out 
four miles to the Peavey lot. Following Creamer’s 
directions, they turned into a pasture on the right, 
after passing a large maple. Briggs surveyed the 
open, sloping field with an approving eye. 

“This ’ll make a first-class ‘ sticking ground,’ ” he 
exclaimed. 

“What’s that?” asked Percy. 

“A place to dry the boards after they’ve been 
sawed. If possible, pick an open, windy slope, not 
too far from the mill, and near the road, so that 
it ’ll be easy to haul ’em away. If they lie on the 
ground, or are put up solid without any air spaces, 
they soon sap-stain and spoil. So they’re always 
piled several feet high, and the layers are separated 
by ‘stickings,’ narrow strips sawed an inch thick, 
set about eight feet apart. There’s a good five 
acres in this pasture, and it ought to give an easy 
chance to stick a million feet.” 

They followed a wood road for some distance 
through a scrubby growth of spruce. Suddenly it 
entered a tract where the trees changed their ap- 
pearance and became larger and straighten 
25 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

“This must be the beginning of the Peavey lot,” 
said Lane. “Look at that pine! Yes, there’s the 
blazed cross Mr. Creamer told us about.” 

He pointed to two straw-colored gashes, crossing 
each other at right angles, slashed through the red- 
dish-brown bark into the underlying wood. 

“The mill’s about twenty rods farther on.” 

Briggs and Doggett had been casting keen glances 
at the tall, straight trunks about them. 

“ ’Gene,” said the former, “this is the finest stand 
of pine I ever set my eyes on. If the rest of it is as 
good as what we’ve seen already, it ought to saw out 
over fifty thousand to the acre.” 

Doggett nodded without replying. They drove 
on between the lines of lofty trees. A rabbit flitted 
across the road before them. On their left a par- 
tridge boomed up and flew heavily away to cover. 
The green twilight, checkered with sun and shadow, 
was steeped in balsamic odors. 

It grew lighter ahead. Rounding a turn, they came 
in sight of a clearing, in the centre of which stood a 
wooden-roofed structure, without sides, and with a 
smokestack at one end. 

“There’s the mill!” exclaimed Lane. 

Two minutes later everybody was examining the 
edifice that was to be the center of their thoughts 
and activities for the next three months. Briggs 
and Doggett at once began to inspect the machinery 
to learn if it was in shape for commencing operations, 
while Budge, realizing that the other three knew 
<16 


A VEST-POCKET SAWMILL 


practically nothing about the mill, gave them a 
general idea of its construction and the way in which 
it worked. 

“Here at the left end is a sixty-horse-power boiler 
that furnishes the steam to the engine right behind 
it. The two belts from those big fly wheels run to 
the pulleys that turn the arbor, the shaft on which 
the saw is fixed. This short corduroy roadway of 
spruce sticks on our right leads up to the ‘brow.’ 
The logs are hauled in on wooden ‘scoots/ drawn by 
two horses. They are rolled off* onto those two long 
stringers, reaching from the ‘brow’ to the track on 
which the carriage runs. Then the roller (that ’ll be 
you, Jim) rolls ’em down, one by one, and puts ’em 
on the carriage, which the sawyer has jigged back 
to just the right place. After the stick has been 
‘dogged’ so that it can’t shift, the sawyer pulls his 
lever, moving the carriage forward and bringing the 
end of the log against that fifty-two-inch circular 
saw in the center of the mill. It’s got sixty teeth, and 
it’s going round seven hundred times a minute, so 
it doesn’t do a thing to Mr. Log. As fast as the 
slabs and boards come off, the marker, who stands 
a few feet to the left of the sawyer, takes ’em in 
charge. He cuts the slabs into short pieces with 
that little slab saw near the central post, and shoves 
’em down that shoot between the belts to the fireman 
(you, Perce). The marker measures the boards 
and chalks on ’em the number of feet they contain, 
and his helper pushes ’em out of the end of the mill 
27 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

into the pit. Then I put each size on the Tigging ’ 
where it belongs, and the yardman hauls ’em off 
to the sticking ground. That’s all there is to it.” 

The process sounded simple enough; but the 
others stared somewhat dubiously at the silent col- 
lection of machinery. 

“You haven’t told me what I’m to do,” said 
Throppy. 

“Don’t you fret,” counseled Budge. “You’re to 
be general utility man, and I’ll guarantee there’ll 
be enough odd jobs to keep you busy. There’s 
always something happening round a mill.” 

Percy was gazing at the smokestack which rose 
from the front end of the boiler, just outside the 
board roof. 

“What’s that wire barrel on top of the iron 
chimney?” he demanded. 

“The sparker! Some call it the bonnet. A mill 
of this sort has a strong draught, which carries no end 
of cinders up the stack; so there has to be something 
on its top to catch ’em, or the whole crew’d be kept 
busy putting out fires in the woods to leeward. Even 
with that, some little sparks get through the meshes, 
and you have to watch sharp on a windy day.” 

“You said I was to be fireman. Where do I 
stand?” 

“In the fire room, this open space back of the 
boiler at the foot of the slab-shoot. You’ll know 
every square inch of it before the end of the summer, 
and sometimes you’ll be liable to find it pretty warm. 

28 


A VEST-POCKET SAWMILL 


Still, it won’t be so bad as you might think, for 
there’s ahvays some air stirring under this open roof, 
even on the hottest days.” 

“I suppose my place ’ll be between those stringers,” 
said Jim. 

“Yes; and from the size of the pines we’ve just 
come through, I should say that your arms and 
shoulders wouldn’t soften up much from lack of 
exercise.” 

“What are those two barrels for?” asked Throppy. 

“To hold water. That outside one’s for emer- 
gencies. The other, nearer the boiler, furnishes a 
supply for making all the steam used in the engine. 
This pipe is the inspirator, which keeps the barrel 
filled by drawing water through the supply pipe from 
some pond or brook; sometimes it has to be brought 
hundreds of feet. This other pipe’s the injector, 
which sucks the water from the barrel into the boiler. 
Perce ’ll find that steel tank rather thirsty on a busy 
day; it’s likely to drink up between two and three 
thousand gallons in nine hours.” 

Briggs and Doggett had by this time finished their 
inspection of the engine and other machinery. 

“How do you find things, Ote?” questioned Lane. 

“Very fair, considering the mill’s several years old. 
Two or three little parts are missing, but nothing 
that we can’t replace easily. We’ll probably find 
everything we need in those chests you’ve got the 
keys of. Well, let’s take a stroll over the rest of the 
lot!” 


29 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

The mill was advantageously located on a gentle 
slope, making it possible for the logs to be rolled 
easily upon the stringers. It had been set near the 
center of the fifty acres, so that the trees cut on the 
outer edges of the tract could be dragged in with the 
shortest possible average haul. Roads, radiating like 
wheel spokes, had been swamped out from it, and 
along these lay trunks enough for several days’ 
sawing. The source of the water supply was a good- 
sized brook, about four hundred feet distant. 

For almost two hours the party tramped along the 
stumpy roads or threaded their way between the 
barky trunks over the thick, soft, mounded carpet 
of dead needles. The growth was almost entirely 
white pine, with here and there a large spruce. The 
New Hampshire men were enthusiastic over the out- 
look. 

“I’ve run a saw through millions of feet of lumber,” 
said Briggs, “and much of it’s been first-class stuff; 
but this tract, right through, beats anything I’ve 
ever seen or heard of. These trees are between eighty 
and two hundred years old. Some of ’em ’ll go over 
a hundred feet tall, and ’ll measure above thirty 
inches through, breast high. It’s a wonder they’ve 
been allowed to stand so long; if they’d grown in our 
part of the country they’d have been in boards years 
ago. Eh, ’Gene?” 

“That’s right,” agreed the less demonstrative 
Doggett. 

“There’s a group of five-log trees, and better. 

30 


A VEST-POCKET SAWMILL 


Look at that giant! Bet he’ll scale over two thou- 
sand feet!” 

Doggett did not answer. He lifted his head and 
sniffed. 

“I smell smoke,” he said. 

So did all the others. Budge looked serious. 

“Somebody camping here? That won’t do!” 

They walked in the direction from which the 
breeze came, the fumes all the while growing stronger. 
Presently they reached a clearing in which stood a 
small shack. A white cloud was floating from its 
stovepipe. 

“Might as well take the bull by the horns!” re- 
marked Budge. 

Going round to the front of the cabin, he rapped 
smartly on the door. It was opened by a tall, stoop- 
shouldered man with white hair and beard; his fea- 
tures expressed surprise and suspicion as he scanned 
his unexpected visitors. Budge went at once to the 
point. 

“What right have you to be living here?” he 
demanded. 

Amazement struggled with indignation on the sup- 
posed squatter’s face. He glanced from one to an- 
other of the group. Gradually understanding dawned 
upon him, but his expression grew, if anything, more 
unfriendly. 

“A better right than you have to be standing on 
my doorstep, insulting me,” he replied at last. “I 
own the land under my feet, and you don’t.” 

3i 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

Budge felt his face reddening. He, too, began to 
see light. 

“ Aren’t we on the Peavey lot?” he stammered. 

“No. You crossed the line fifty feet back. I’m 
Hiram Merrithew. I’ve owned this land, one hun- 
dred acres of it, and lived in this cabin more years 
than you are old. And further, young man, let me 
tell you this: So long as I’m above ground, neither 
you nor any other tree butchers will have a chance 
to slaughter God’s green woods by running a portable 
mill on this lot!” 

His face grew hard and his eye brightened as, 
disregarding Budge’s attempted apologies, he turned 
away and slammed his door. 

The timber cruisers beat a hurried retreat to the 
Peavey lot. 

“Here’s the line,” said Budge, flushed and sheep- 
ish. “I ought to have noticed when we crossed 
it. John Creamer told me about Merrithew; queer 
I didn’t remember! Said he’d lived the life of a 
hermit for over twenty years, and that he thought 
a sight more of his trees than he did of men. 
Well, we’ve made a bad start with our only 
neighbor. Next time I’ll know enough to approach 
a stranger like a gentleman, even if I think he is in 
the wrong.” 

“Then that knot of big pines wasn’t on our lot, 
after all,” mourned Briggs. 

It was almost five o’clock when they returned to 
the mill clearing; and all, Throppy in particular, 
32 


A VEST-POCKET SAWMILL 


were more or less tired. For some time Percy had 
been indulging in sudden, violent gestures, and mut- 
tering emphatically to himself. 

“You may say all you please about big pines,” 
he burst out, “but this lot produces one thing that 
I don’t believe any other spot on earth can match, 
and that’s mosquitoes! They’re the thickest, 
healthiest, hungriest lot that ever presented their 
bills to me. I ran across some in the hollow back 
there that were almost as big as humming birds. 
Strange the rest of you haven’t noticed ’em ! They’ve 
drawn a gallon of blood from me since three 
o’clock.” 

“You don’t look very pale, Perce,” consoled 
Budge. “Cheer up! They won’t stop very long.” 

“If they stay, I sha’n’t,” said Percy. “They’re 
even worse than Jim’s flute.” 

Unhitching their horses, they prepared to start 
back. 

“We’ll build a couple of camps the first thing we 
do,” remarked Lane. “A small one for Ote and 
’Gene, and a bigger shack, about the size of the cabin 
on Tarpaulin, for us four. We’ll fit it up inside as near 
as we can like the other, so that it ’ll remind Jim 
of the island.” 

After supper that evening Lane came over to 
Ezra Barker’s to discuss the situation with his mates. 
His bearing showed that he felt the responsibility 
that rested upon him. The others, even Jim, looked 
to him as their leader in their new venture. Win 
33 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

or lose, the die was cast; they were in for it; it was 
too late to back out. The situation called for all the 
brains and grit they could muster. 

“We’ve got to make a success of this,” insisted 
Roger, resolutely. “We can do it; I know we 
can.” 

“There’s something odd about this place,” said 
Percy. “I can’t tell why, but somehow I feel it in 
my bones that the people here aren’t particularly 
glad to see us.” 

“I’ve noticed the same thing,” assented Jim. 
“They look at us in a peculiar way; and some are 
positively surly.” 

“Well, we can’t help that,” observed Budge. “The 
only thing we can do is to give everybody a square 
deal and expect them to give us the same. Now, 
Jim, you’ve seen the mill and the lot, and you under- 
stand what we’ve got to do. How do you like the 
outlook?” 

“I don’t like it,” Jim replied, briefly and honestly. 
“I’m homesick for the salt water. It ’ll be the 
first summer I was ever away from it. There isn’t 
enough change in the scenery to suit me. Every- 
thing ’ll be the same every morning, w T oods, moun- 
tains and all. Then there’s the mill; you wouldn’t 
say there was much beauty about that. But . . .” 

He glanced toward Throppy and stopped. Budge 
and Percy understood. Jim would be glad to stand 
anything, no matter how unpleasant, if Throppy 
would only get well. 


34 


A VEST-POCKET SAWMILL 


A few hundred feet off, in Grannitt’s office, dimly- 
lighted by a sooted kerosene lamp, another con- 
ference was being held between the lawyer and his 
principal client. 

“Well, Milo, now you’ve seen ’em, what do you 
think of ’em?” queried Legore. 

Grannitt laughed. 

“What do you think?” he parried. 

Hard Cash dropped his heavy hand carelessly on 
the table. The lamp flared, shooting a long, smoky 
tongue of flame toward the ceiling. 

“Nothin’ there to be afraid of! The two men may 
know how to run a mill, but they don’t know any- 
thin’ else. The others don’t count, ’ceptin’ p’r’aps 
that hulkin’ dark-haired feller, an’ he’s jest over- 
grown boy, a big lump o’ putty. They’ll last quick. 
We’ll git our money, Milo!” 

The lawyer shifted his unlighted cigar from the 
left corner of his mouth to the right. 

“That big fellow’s got more stuff in him than you 
think,” he said. “But he’s only in the gristle yet. 
Ten years from this time, when he’s butted into a 
few stone walls and hardened up, he’ll be a tough 
proposition to buck against. But I guess you’re 
right about him now. We’ll probably divide the 
cash, you taking the lion’s share, as usual. Still, 

I don’t like the set of his jaw!” 


Ill 


BREAKING IN 

INURING the next few days Budge was more 
than busy. The bulk of the planning fell 
upon him, as generalissimo of the expedition; but 
he found Jim and Percy most efficient lieutenants. 
Briggs and Doggett assumed the responsibility of 
getting the mill into shape to run, and of making out 
a list of everything that was needed, such as missing 
parts, tools, oil, and other supplies. 

There were many important matters to be at- 
tended to before the business would be fairly under 
way. Men and horses were to be hired; camps must 
be built and furnished; food had to be arranged for; 
a contract must be entered into with the owner of 
the pasture, so that his land could be used as a 
sticking ground; a loan of five thousand dollars, with 
Lane, senior, and the other owners of the Peavey lot 
as security, was to be negotiated in Parcherville, the 
county seat, fifteen miles off; and an account had 
to be opened with the Parcherville Savings and Trust 
Company, so that several hundred dollars would be 
forthcoming each week for current expenses. Last, 
but no means least, Throppy, under Budge’s direc- 
36 


BREAKING IN 


tion, entered into correspondence with various lumber 
dealers and box factories, regarding the sale of their 
prospective output. 

Budge, assisted by Percy, uncrated his motor 
cycle, and devoted several hours to putting it in 
running order. On this machine he made a quick 
trip to Parcherville, where the loan was successfully 
engineered and satisfactory arrangements made with 
the bank; he also engaged an auto truck to take a 
load of miscellaneous supplies out to the mill. On 
his return to Barham he met Parker Slocum, owner 
of the pasture, in Milo Grannitt’s office; and there 
a contract was drawn securing to Roger Lane and 
his associates the right to use said land as a sticking 
ground. Budge realized that he was paying double 
what the property was worth; but it was the only 
tract available for his purpose, and he had no time 
to quibble over the price. 

Lumbermen have hearty appetites; so Budge ar- 
ranged for a liberal supply of eggs, butter, and 
vegetables, and engaged Holway & Benner’s delivery 
team to call twice a week. Milburn’s meat cart 
passed the sticking ground on Tuesdays, and Wesley 
Murch went by with fish on Fridays; and both were 
notified to turn in to the mill. Joshua Kimball, 
who owned the nearest farm, a half mile off, agreed 
to send his boy Morgan down every morning with 
four quarts of milk. 

“What do you take us for, Budge?” asked Jim. 
“Cormorants?” 

4 


37 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

“ Don’t you worry, old man! After you’ve been 
at work a few days in this bracing pine air, you’ll be 
hungry enough to eat boards; and we can’t afford 
to have you do that.” 

But the hardest work of all was the assembling 
of the rest of their working force. It was necessary 
to hire fifteen men more: six choppers; one loader; 
three teamsters, each with a two-horse team, to drag 
the heavily burdened scoots to the mill; a man to 
help roll logs across onto the brow and make him- 
self generally useful; a pusher, to assist the marker; 
a yardman and his double team to haul the sawed 
lumber along the pit road to the yard; and two 
stickers to pile the boards. 

“Boys!” exclaimed Budge. “Somehow we’ve 
simply got to dig up fifteen men. In a business way 
it means life or death to us. No men, no boards!” 

The natives with whom they had dealt had been 
perfectly willing to take their money; but when it 
came to rendering any assistance in securing workers, 
they exhibited a strange lukewarmness. But Budge, 
spurred by necessity, did not relax his efforts. Ably 
seconded by Jim and Percy, and grudgingly aided 
by John Creamer, Ezra Barker and Holway & 
Benner, he canvassed the region for ten miles in 
every direction from Barham Four Corners, by team, 
motor cycle, and telephone. At the end of three days, 
by dint of coaxing, arguing, and particularly by 
promise of liberal payment, he had gotten his fifteen 
men, with the requisite number of two-horse teams. 

38 


BREAKING IN 


The three pairs of choppers were Corydon Stokes 
and Ike Murray; Peter Huston and Lem Bridge; 
and two Frenchmen, Joe Maliber and Louis Benoit. 
A sturdy, flaxen-haired Dane, Hans Jensen, had 
agreed to act as loader. Nat Goodhow, Jerry Ladd, 
and Gordon McAuliffe, all sons of Barham farmers, 
were to team the logs in to the mill; and Brad Martin 
had been secured as general-utility man. Young 
Tug Prince had hired out as marker’s helper. Chris- 
tian Bremer, Jensen’s cousin, with his pair of strong 
blacks, was to haul the boards to the sticking ground, 
where Mark Potter and Sereno Goff had engaged 
to do the piling. 

Budge drew a long breath, as he turned away from 
Holway & Benner’s telephone, after clinching the 
last man; but he did not unbosom himself until he 
met the other boys after supper in their room at 
Ezra Barker’s. 

“I can’t understand,” he exploded, “why it’s so 
hard to hire men to work for us. I know, of course, 
that a farmer’s time is pretty well taken up in the 
summer; but none of these fellows I’ve been after 
have been especially busy, and I’ve offered ’em top- 
notch wages. They seem to be afraid of us. I 
don’t see why, for they’re sure of their pay every 
week.” 

The others were unable to lend him any help in 
solving the riddle. The last few days had increased 
Jim’s respect for Lane’s knowledge and business 
ability to positive admiration. 

39 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

“Budge/’ said he, “I never realized you knew so 
much. Where in the world did you get it, and how 
have you managed to hide it from us so long?” 

Early the next morning the Peavey lot woke to 
life. During the forenoon men and horses kept 
coming in, until by the dinner hour the entire force 
had mustered. The choppers were busy along the 
roads with ax and saw, and the forest aisles resounded 
with the splintering crash of falling pines. Shouting 
teamsters hauled in scoot-loads of heavy logs, filled 
the stringers, and started a pile just above the brow. 

Beneath the low board roof the mill crew worked 
actively under the direction of Briggs. The loose 
parts of the machinery were taken from the chests, 
the rubber belts were unrolled and slipped on, the 
bearings were oiled, and everything was put into 
condition for starting. Briggs straightened up and 
filed the saw, and swaged it, to set off the corners 
of the teeth. 

“How do you find it, Ote?” asked Lane. 

“In good shape, except for three or four bull’s-eyes; 
and they’re not large enough to do any hurt.” 

“What’s a bull’s-eye?” inquired Jim. 

“One of those discolored spots, where the steel 
has become overheated. They weaken the metal, 
but don’t bother much, unless there are too many 
of ’em.” 

“Those teeth look as if they were movable.” 

“Yes; if any break, you can take ’em out and put 
in new ones. The old type of circular saw was solid, 
40 


BREAKING IN 


and the breaking of a few teeth meant that it had 
to go back to its makers.” 

“What if something happens to this saw so that 
you can’t repair it?” 

“There’s another in that box; and I’m going to 
order a third next week. In case of accident, extra 
parts may save a long shut-down.” 

Anxious to learn all they could about the opera- 
tion of the unfamiliar plant, Percy and Jim plied 
Budge with questions; and even Throppy showed 
signs of his old activity and interest. 

“Well, Cap’n Lane,” said Briggs, at last, “guess 
she’s in running order. Let’s fill the boiler!” 

Taking off the manhole cover and inserting a spout, 
they began to force in water by means of a hand 
pump attached to the supply pipe. Everybody 
took his turn at the work. 

“Say, Roger,” said Briggs, as ne surrendered his 
place to Jim, “ever hear of the scrape Uncle Sim 
Browburn got into, filling Brad Dacey’s boiler?” 

“I knew Uncle Sim,” answered Budge. “And I 
know that he used to drink more hard cider than 
was good for him; but I never heard anything about 
Dacey’s boiler.” 

“You’re right when you say he was fond of hard 
cider,” returned Briggs. “And that was the thing 
that got him into the scrape. Dacey had moved 
his mill to a new setting, and some of his crew, like 
a good many other portable-mill men, thought that 
operations couldn’t be started properly without a 
4i 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

few gallons of apple juice. Some of the neighbors 
felt the same way, so in the evening they met to have 
a good time and fill the boiler. After pumping 
several minutes, they would sample the cider, and 
then go at it again. Before long Uncle Sim’s knees 
got pretty shaky. Every little while he would tap 
the boiler with a hammer, claiming he could tell 
by the sound how high the water had risen inside. 
‘ Up to there, boys!’ he would say, patting the plates. 
Then they would take drinks all round and go back 
to pumping. In a few minutes Uncle Sim would 
make another test with his hammer. Tap! Tap! 
Tap! ‘ You’re gaining, boys! Hang to it!’ Another 
drink, and more pumping. And so they kept on 
for almost two hours, but not a drop showed in the 
water-glass. That seemed mighty queer! They 
couldn’t understand it. At last Uncle Sim started 
out in the dark to walk round the end of the boiler. 
In a minute the others heard a splashing and splut- 
tering, mixed with loud yells: ‘Help, boys! I’m 
drownin’!’ Those of ’em whose legs weren’t too 
limber ran round the boiler and found Uncle Sim 
paddling for dear life in a couple of feet of water in 
a hollow between two cradle knolls. They fished 
him out, and soon discovered what the trouble was. 
They’d been having such a good time that they’d 
forgotten to shut the blow-off cock, and there wasn’t 
a pailful of water in the boiler. It had run out as 
fast as they’d pumped it in. Uncle Sim never heard 
the last of that.” 


42 


BREAKING IN 


“How much does this boiler hold?” asked Jim. 

“About two thousand gallons. But it ’ll seem as 
if it held twice that before we get it filled.” 

Many hands made light work. Yet it was a long 
time before the water showed in the slanting glass. 

All now turned to and gathered armfuls of dead, 
dry, pine limbs. Soon a hot blaze was roaring and 
leaping at the round black mouths of the battery 
of tubes at the forward end of the firebox. 

“You’re lord of the fire room, Perce!” said Lane. 
“She’s your boiler. Here!” 

He tossed him a pair of black, gauntlet gloves, 
their palms set with rows of steel rivets. 

“Those ’ll help keep the pitch and splinters out of 
your hands. Ote and ’Gene ’ll have an eye on you. 
Better take your instructions from them till you 
get so that you understand your job!” 

Percy pulled on the gloves, and started enthusi- 
astically to cram the firebox full of dead pine. 

“Not too fast, boy!” cautioned Doggett. “This 
boiler’s cold. You mustn’t try to get steam up too 
quick, or you’ll be liable to crack or strain some- 
thing. Keep all four corners well filled, so there’ll 
be no dead air space, but don’t drive her too hard.” 

Briggs also contributed an occasional suggestion, 
which Percy was glad to follow. He knew nothing 
about firing a boiler, but he was willing to learn. 
Soon the black needle on the dial of the gauge on the 
dome began to rise slowly. 

While the boiler was steaming up, the two men 
43 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

gave the engine a final looking over. When the 
gauge showed about forty pounds, Briggs tried the 
inspirator. For a while the white vapor hissed freely 
from the pipe into the barrel; then after a throaty 
sputtering came the water. A test of the three pet 
cocks on the boiler end to the right of the firebox 
door gave satisfactory results. It was not long 
before they had a hundred pounds of steam. 

“All ready!” shouted Briggs. 

He pulled down the whistle wire. 

Whee-ee-ee-ee! A shrill, sustained, ear-splitting 
screech pealed through the pines. After a few seconds 
the sawyer shut it off. 

“Enough of that for a while! Open the throttle 
and start the" engine, ’Gene!” 

Doggett obeyed. Quickly steam and water began 
to blow out of the drip cocks. The great flywheels 
commenced to revolve, at first slowly, then faster 
and faster. Belts, pulleys, and shafting woke to life 
with a low rumble like distant thunder. The teeth 
on the rim of the whirling saw became a narrow, 
shadowy blur. The entire mill was in motion. 

Everybody stood at his post. Pushing his lever 
from him, Briggs jigged the carriage back opposite 
the ends of the stringers, on which lay a twelve-foot 
log, beautifully straight and smooth and over two 
feet in diameter. Following his directions, Jim, 
stoutly but somewhat clumsily, heaved the trunk 
upon the carriage with his short rolling-hook, and 
together they “dogged” it firmly in place. 

44 


BREAKING IN 


Briggs pulled his lever toward him. The carriage, 
bearing the log, moved toward the revolving saw, 
until the blur of teeth touched the pine butt. With 
a high-pitched, whining shriek the sharp steel points 
ripped through the soft wood, throwing a thin yellow 
spray up against the dust-board, which hung from 
the roof to protect the sawyer’s face. 

A few seconds later Doggett was cutting the first 
slab into short pieces with the slab-saw, and pushing 
them down the shoot to Percy in the fire room. Their 
summer’s work was fairly begun. 

That afternoon they sawed about three thousand 
feet of boards, occasional stops being advisable for 
making adjustments in the machinery. Each boy 
found that his own particular work was sufficient 
to keep him fully occupied. All were glad when 
at four o’clock Briggs signaled Percy to pull the 
whistle. Doggett shut the throttle of the engine and 
everything came to a stop. 

“ We’ll close down an hour early to-day,” said 
he, “so it ’ll give us plenty of time to fix those 
camps.” 

During the three days the boys had spent in 
drumming up the remainder of their crew, the two 
New Hampshire men had been working on a little 
group of buildings for the men and the horses. Two 
of these rough houses, built with boards previously 
sawed by the mill, and roofed with tarred paper, 
had been practically completed; and Budge had sent 
out the necessary furnishings from Parcherville, in 
45 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

the auto truck. A very little labor would put the 
boys in condition to begin housekeeping. 

“Now, young man,” remarked Briggs to Percy, 
“I’ll show you how to fix your boiler for the night, 
so that everything’ll be ready for starting to-morrow 
morning. I’ll tell you what to do, but I want you 
to do it yourself; that’s the only way to learn.” 

Under his directions Percy opened the steam valve 
of the injector and forced water into the boiler, 
until it was full to the top of the highest gauge. 
Filling his pail two or three times from the barrel, 
he wet down the dry sawdust, bark, and chips around 
the firebox, to prevent any danger of sparks creeping 
out from the ash pit and burning the mill in the night. 
Then he banked the fire by filling the firebox full of 
green slabs and sawdust. Going around to the front 
of the boiler, he opened the smoke-arch door, propped 
it in place, and put the “banking-board” close up 
against the ends of the fifty-two tubes to kill the 
draught. 

“You’ll catch on quick,” said Briggs, who had 
watched him keenly. “The fire ’ll come up in short 
order in the morning. I’ve known it to keep for 
days, after it’s been banked like that.” 

The native portion of the force soon disappeared. 
Five of the men went off in a Ford car. The others 
with their horses found quarters at neighboring 
farms or in the village. The New Hampshire pair 
and the four boys were left alone on the Peavey lot. 

Thanks to Budge’s foresight, everything was there 
46 


BREAKING IN 


to make them comfortable. Two of the camps stood 
in the edge of the woods about a hundred feet from 
the mill. One, patterned almost exactly after the 
cabin on Tarpaulin, was for the use of the boys. 
The other, somewhat smaller, belonged to Briggs and 
Doggett. Both were supplied with bunks, board 
tables, camp stools, small stoves, iron sinks, and a 
generous stock of ordinary dishes and cooking 
utensils. Flour, potatoes, canned goods, and other 
eatables had been provided in abundance. 

“ We’ll live well, if we don’t do anything else,” 
said Budge. 

Jim picked up a package from the table. 

“That feels like beefsteak,” he observed. 

Breaking the string, he opened the paper. It was 
beefsteak, tender and juicy. 

“Where’s the frying-pan, Budge?” he asked. 
“Bring in some kindling, Perce, and start a fire in 
that stove; you want to keep your hand in for your 
job at the mill. Throppy, go up to the spring and 
fetch a pail of water! I’ll be cook for to-night.” 

Soon the thick slices of steak were sputtering in the 
spider. A dozen potatoes were peeled and sliced for 
frying, a batch of biscuit mixed up, and a can of 
peaches opened. The supper that the boys sat down 
to would not have shamed a professional cook, and 
they all brought appetites to match it. Tired, 
mosquito bitten, with blistered, splintery hands and 
lame backs, they attacked the food ravenously. 

“I feel as if I was hollow to the toes,” said Percy. 

47 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

When they had finished, the table looked as if a 
cyclone had struck it. Budge surveyed the scene of 
devastation with whimsical regret. 

“ Guess PH have to revise the commissary esti- 
mates, he mourned. “What did I tell you about 
woods appetites ?” 

After the dishes had been washed, the cabin put 
to rights, and various odd jobs done, they took 
their camp stools out of doors, and sat down 
to enjoy the cool of the evening. Briggs and 
Doggett were smoking their pipes in front of their 
own camp. 

The sun had sunk, and the flaming west burned 
out to a dusky, angry red beyond the serried black 
trunks. From the sedgy borders of Lake Agawam 
the frogs were choiring tunefully. Faint and far 
through the clear air echoed the melancholy trum- 
peting of a solitary loon. A cool west wind sprang 
up, drawing a slumberous music from the swaying 
pine boughs. 

“Sounds something like the surf on Tarpaulin, 
doesn’t it?” said Jim. “Just as we used to hear it 
through the fog when we came in from pulling our 
trawls. There’s the same sky overhead, and the 
same ocean of air. They’re the only things that 
reconcile me to being away from the salt water. But 
here the green of the foliage is fixed, while the color 
of the sea was always changing.” 

“Then you think you may come to like it, after 
all?” rejoiced Budge. 


a8 


BREAKING IN 

“It’s not so bad. I’ve seen places a good deal 
worse.” 

He stretched his hand toward the darkening forest. 

“ But what a pity it is to destroy a beautiful growth 
of trees like that for the sake of money; to turn it 
into dollars for men to steal and get drunk on and 
gamble with and fight over! Now it’s a big wind 
organ, calm and peaceful and almost holy, the home 
of hundreds of birds and little animals. I can under- 
stand how that old hermit feels about it, over there 
alone in his cabin. Those trees started before our 
grandfathers were born; and our grandchildren (if 
we ever have any) ’ll be dead long before this lot 
grows up so large again. That’s one thing in favor 
of the sea — men can’t hurt it. It ’ll be just the same 
as it is now, when we’re forgotten.” 

Budge felt obliged to take some exceptions to his 
friend’s view. 

“I won’t say you’re altogether wrong, Jim; but 
I don’t think you’re quite just to the lumbermen. 
If these trees were never cut, by and by they’d 
stop growing and die and fall down and rot without 
doing anybody any good. Now they’re going to be 
turned into boards for all sorts of useful purposes. 
Besides, the money that comes to the people who 
work about this mill will help furnish food and cloth- 
ing and shelter for more than a dozen families, to 
say nothing of paying a good part of the expenses of 
our education. So, after all, we’re not such abandoned 
criminals as old Merrithew ’d make us out!” 

49 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

Jim shook his head. 

“Yes . . . there’s that way of looking at it, of 
course. But I’ve something to back up my view, 
too.” 

Percy, who for the last fifteen minutes had been 
vigorously defending himself from the mosquitoes, 
leaped to his feet and snatched up his camp stool. 

“I can’t stand this any longer, fellows! Let’s go 
in!” 

The others followed his example. 

“Feel like giving us a tune on your violin, 
Throppy?” inquired Budge. 

“Not to-night. I’m a little tired. I will to- 
morrow.” 

Glancing slyly at Percy, Jim gave a modest cough. 

“If anybody should ask me for a few notes on the 
flute, . . .” he began. 

Percy bolted for the door. 

“Help!” he cried. “Let me out! I’m going to 
bunk with the mosquitoes!” 

“We’ll wait till to-morrow night and have a con- 
cert,” said Budge. 

Twenty minutes later all were sound asleep on 
their beds of spruce boughs. 


IV 


FROM STUMP TO STICK 

A WOODPECKER, hammering briskly on a near- 
by pine, was the bell-boy that roused Percy 
Whittington from a dreamless slumber at half past 
five the next morning. Starting up, he found that 
Jim and Budge were already astir. Budge made a 
warning gesture toward Throppy’s bunk. 

“Don’t wake him! This sleep ’ll do him a world 
of good. Let’s go down for a swim ! ” 

Dressing cautiously, the three tiptoed out and 
closed the door. A column of smoke from the stove- 
pipe of the other camp, and the clink of a stewpan, 
told that Briggs and Doggett were preparing break- 
fast. 

It was a beautiful June morning. The early sun- 
light, filtering through the dark-green foliage, was 
reflected from thousands of glittering needles. A 
thin, bluish haze from the smoking chimney hung 
above the clearing. Birds sang in the treetops, 
and chipmunks scampered over the rounded knolls 
of dead spills between the dark, straight, barky 
trunks. Threading their way down toward the lake, 
the boys soon caught sight of its unruffled blue. 

5i 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

They stood presently on a white sand beach, with a 
rocky promontory on one side and a sedgy cove on 
the other. Outside the rushes floated a quarter-acre 
of lily pads. 

Percy, the first in, found deep water off the end 
of the point, and dived with a whoop. Jim and 
Budge quickly joined him, and for fifteen minutes 
they swam and frolicked; then they came out, and 
dressed. 

There was a splash beyond the pads; Jim was all 
interest. 

“What fish is that?” 

“Pickerel!” replied Budge. “And a big one! 
We’ll hire a boat, and have some fun trolling before 
and after working hours.” 

“What’s the matter with building a punt of our 
own?” 

“Nothing! We can do it like a die, if you’ll be the 
ship carpenter. We’ll have plenty of boards.” 

The smell of pine smoke was pleasant in their 
nostrils as they once more came in sight of the mill 
and the little, black-roofed, yellow-sided camps 
beyond it. Stevens was still asleep. 

“Better start up your fire, Perce,” said Budge. 
“Jim and I’ll see to getting breakfast.” 

Briggs was already at the mill. Under his tuition 
Percy took down the banking board, dropped the 
smoke-arch door, opened his draughts, and threw in 
plenty of fresh slabs. Soon the flames were crackling 
and leaping at k the tube ends. The arrow of the 
52 


FROM STUMP TO STICK 


steam gauge, which was down to almost nothing, 
began to mount steadily. 

“Go and get your breakfast,” said the sawyer. 
“Fve had mine. Til keep an eye on her till you 
come back.” 

Bananas, cereal and milk, with crisp bacon and 
potatoes, and the biscuits remaining from the night 
before, made them a hearty meal. Stevens was now 
up, and ate with them. 

“How are you feeling, Throppy?” asked Jim. 

“Fine! I slept like a log. Im going to like this 
place.” 

After breakfast the various household duties were 
divided among the four, and it was decided that every 
week the different tasks should be allotted afresh. 

“One thing we’ll settle right now,” said Budge, 
“and that is that the cook sha’n’t wash dishes in the 
spring; if he does he’s to be taken out and hung to 
the tallest pine. Now, fellows, I don’t see why we 
can’t get along all right. I’ve arranged with Mrs. 
Kimball to do our washing. She’ll bake a pot of 
beans and fry a big batch of doughnuts for us every 
Saturday; and, if we need any other extra cooking, 
she’ll do it some time in the week. So we sha’n’t 
starve to death.” 

At seven Percy pulled the whistle. Doggett was 
oiling the machinery, while Briggs filed the saw. 
The Ford came in through the wood road, and dis- 
embarked its five passengers. The other men and 
the teamsters with their horses soon appeared. The 
5 53 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

gauge now showed a hundred pounds of steam, the 
stringers were full of logs, and the mill was ready to 
start. 

A black-and-white hound with drooping ears and a 
melancholy face trotted through the clearing. 

“Hulloo!” said Budge. “ Whose dog is that?” 

“He my dog,” said Joe Maliber, one of the French- 
Canadian choppers. “I shoot more dan a hundred 
rabbit over him last winter. Allez, Jack!” 

The hound followed his master up a scoot road 
toward the chopping ground. Soon he was heard 
giving tongue, evidently on the trail of his favorite 
game. 

Before beginning to saw, Briggs and Budge came 
to a final decision as to the kind of lumber into which 
the logs should be turned. 

“In my opinion,” said Briggs, “to get the most 
out of a fancy lot like this, we ought to saw two- 
thirds of it into square-edged, inch boards and two- 
inch plank, or round-edge, high-grade plank for 
house finish or boat boards, and into pattern 
stocks; the other third can go into box boards.” 

“How many feet should we turn out a day?” 

“With good luck and not too many shut-downs 
for repairs we ought to get between ten and twelve 
thousand, or sixty to seventy thousand a week. Of 
course, rainy days ’ll knock down our average.” 

They were interrupted by a furious hissing. A 
white cloud poured from the safety valve on the top 
of the steam dome. 


54 


FROM STUMP TO STICK 


“What’s the trouble?” cried the new fireman, in 
alarm. “Has anything burst?” 

Briggs laughed. 

“She’s only blowing off! Look at your gauge and 
you’ll see that it’s over one hundred and fifteen. 
When she blows down to that the valve ’ll close 
again. Don’t crowd your fire so hard! With too 
much pressure on, your steam goes to waste, and 
you eat the water out of the boiler pretty fast. 
Don’t forget one thing! When you’re handling 
steam you’re dealing with the real stuff, and it’s 
your business to see it doesn’t get away from you. 
Gunpowder or dynamite isn’t in it with bottled fog 
yearnin’ to break loose! When a boiler lets go it’s 
war and pestilence and sudden death. Remember 
that, my lad! I’ll tell you another hard-cider story; 
only this one isn’t quite so funny as the first. The 
fireman of a portable mill upcountry took sick one 
Saturday and went home. It was in the winter, and 
he’d been running the boiler with the safety valve 
tied down, so she wouldn’t waste steam by blowing 
off. Foolish thing to do; but sometimes it’s done. 
Before he left he shut off the steam gauge. Monday 
morning he didn’t show up, so they had to find some- 
body else; and the new man happened to be full of 
hard cider. They asked him if he understood about 
firing a boiler, and the question tickled him so he 
almost laughed himself to death. So they let him 
show what he could do. He kept crowding wood 
into the firebox, but still the steam needle didn’t 
55 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

register a pound. By and by the boiler began to 
rock; and just then he happened to notice that the 
gauge was shut off. He opened the valve, and the 
hand jumped clean ’round the dial as far as it could 
go. He lost his head, grabbed a pail of cold water, 
and hove it into the firebox. The second it struck the 
crown sheet, she went up, and the mill went with her. 
It blew the marker into a slab-pile, chinked him in 
so tight they had to pick him out in handfuls. That’s 
what a boiler can do when it tries; and I don’t want 
to see this one try. But you needn’t get nervous! 
I’ll keep an eye on the steam gauge and water glass 
and see that nothing happens, while you’re learning. 
She’s perfectly safe so long as the water’s over the 
crown sheet.” 

A log was already in place on the carriage. Briggs 
grasped his lever and the work of the day began. 
Throppy had been told by Budge that there was 
nothing for him to do at present, but that he ought 
to become familiar with all the details of the work, 
as he could help later. 

Life in the woods was a novel thing to the city boy. 
He determined to follow a tree from the moment it 
was attacked by the choppers until the boards sawed 
from it were piled on the sticking ground, “from 
stump to stick,” as the expression goes. Walking 
up the path to the crystal-clear spring that supplied 
them with water, he struck out through the pines 
toward the ringing ax-strokes. 

His feet sank into the soft, brownish duff. Little 
56 


FROM STUMP TO STICK 

spruces with light green tufts on the tips of their 
branches rose here and there. He crossed beds of 
moss laced with trailing partridge vines and dotted 
with springing ferns. A walk of a few minutes 
brought him to where Maliber and Benoit were 
chopping. Joe greeted him cordially. 

“You come to see us cut down tree, eh? You 
watch ! ” 

A hundred-foot pine stood by the side of the scoot 
road. With their axes Joe and his mate cleared away 
the small trees and underbrush around it. 

“We lay him that way,” said Joe, indicating the 
direction in which he wished to fall the giant. 

A dozen blows with his keen ax cut a scarf three 
or four inches deep into the yellowish wood, a half 
foot above the ground on the side toward which the 
pine was to be dropped. Picking up their two-handled 
cross-cut saw, Louis sprinkled it on both sides with 
kerosene oil from a bottle in his hip pocket, to cut 
the pitch, so that the blade would run easily. Kneel- 
ing, one at each handle, they began cutting through 
the tree on the side opposite the scarf. The sharp, 
steel teeth ate their way in toward the heart of the 
butt, and at last the saw began to bind, as the weight 
above pressed down upon it. 

“Wedge, Louis!” ordered Joe. 

A hard-wood wedge, driven into the cut behind the 
saw, eased the pressure. Again they pulled at the 
handles, until finally only a narrow hinge remained 
between the points of the teeth and the scarf. 

57 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

“ Far enough ! ” grunted Louis. 

A few blows on the butt of the wedge with the 
flat of an ax; the top of the pine quivered and the 
trunk swayed forward as the cut opened. 

“Look out! Dere she goes!” 

A rending and snapping of fibres, a rushing swoop, 
a cracking of branches, and down came the heavy 
trunk with a tremendous crash. A shower of twigs 
and needles followed it. Joe had laid the tree exactly 
where he wanted it, parallel with the scoot-road. 

Taking their double-bitted axes, with a blade on 
each side, one ground keen and thin for regular 
chopping, the other thicker and heavier for cutting 
knots, the two Frenchmen .began to “limb” the 
trunk, their blows on the dry, brittle stubs echo- 
ing like pistol shots. Then they sawed the tree 
into logs, four of sixteen feet in length, and two of 
twelve. 

Nat Goodhow came along the road with his scoot, 
Hans Jensen, the loader, walking behind it. The 
“scoot” was a heavy oak sled, shod with maple, with 
two stout “ bunks,” or crossbars, on which the logs 
were laid. Cross-lifting with their peaveys, Nat and 
Hans, putting out all their strength, succeeded with 
the help of skids in getting three of the big pine sticks 
upon the scoot. There they were chained securely. 
Standing upon their front ends, Nat started his pair 
of sturdy grays. Throppy followed. 

The road to the mill was rough and set with 
stumps. Time and again smoke followed the run- 
53 


FROM STUMP TO STICK 

ners as the bulky sled ground over some small stick 
or log. But the horses were stout and Nat drove 
them skillfully; and at last the scoot halted on the 
brow. 

There the load was discharged and turned over to 
Jim’s control. As the stringers were full, and as these 
particular logs would have to wait till those in front 
of them were sawed, Throppy sat down near by, to 
watch operations. 

The sight was full of fascination for him. At one 
end of the low roof rose the battered stack, swaying 
slightly, despite its wire guys. From the sparker on 
its top the straw-colored smoke oozed lazily, shot with 
black cinders, which showered down continually upon 
the stumpy ground. Vanishing whiffs of white 
steam escaped here and there from boiler and engine. 
Under the roof the motion of wheels and pulleys and 
running rubber belts caught the eye; and in the 
heart of all whirled the great saw with its bright and 
dark rings. 

Briggs, hat and shoulders sprinkled with piny 
dust, stood at his lever, controlling the sliding 
carriage. A fresh log moved toward the saw. 
Arrh! A knot. Arr-rrh! Another. Arr-rr-rrk! A 
complaining shriek, as a short section of bark and 
wood came off. Back went the carriage, and Briggs 
pulled the set-lever toward him twice. Again the 
log slid against the remorseless teeth. Arr-rr-rr-rR- 
RR-RRH ! A sustained, vindictive screech, accom- 
panied by a rockety puffing of the exhaust, rising as 
59 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

the saw went through the wood, and then dying 
away, until lost in the thrumming monotone of the 
machinery. 

The slab slapped down upon the table. Briggs 
jigged the carriage back and began cutting off the 
first board. Meanwhile, short, sharp, shrill yelps 
from the smaller saw proclaimed that the slab was 
being reduced to firewood under Doggett’s experi- 
enced hands, and tossed down the slab shoot between 
the running belts from the great flywheels. 

In the fire room at the boiler-end stood P. Whit- 
tington, pulling the sections down the shoot with an 
ice pick, and pitching them into the firebox. He 
wore a quarter-sleeved jersey, and old, white, duck 
trousers and tennis shoes. His bare arms were sun- 
burnt red-brown, like those of an Indian. On his 
head was a faded gray felt hat, brim pulled down all 
around, and a hole through its top, which stuck up 
to a point. 

“Where did you get that hat, Perce ?” chaffed 
Throppy. 

“Fresh from Paris; Worth’s latest creation,” flung 
back the busy fireman. 

“After you’ve wrestled a few cords of those slabs, 
the handle of a tennis racket or the steering wheel of 
an auto ’ll feel pretty good, eh ?” 

“All in a lifetime,” responded Percy, nonchalantly. 

Perspiration streamed down his cheeks as he faced 
the bla^fe in the firebox. His eyes frequently sought 
the steam gauge and the water glass. He was thor- 
60 


FROM STUMP TO STICK 


oughly interested in his work, and determined to 
make good. 

A live spark dropped into the dead needles near 
Throppy, and set them smoking. He ground the 
tiny fire out under his heel. The logs in which he 
was interested were steadily nearing the mill end of 
the stringers. Beyond them projected the square, 
wooden shoot, from the mouth of which the sawdust, 
drawn by the blower from under the saw, was spin- 
ning out in a thin, windy stream. 

Between the stringers, Jim, bare-armed like Percy, 
but with far larger frame and muscles, was busy with 
his rolling-hook. Aided by an occasional sugges- 
tion from Briggs, he was fast mastering the art of 
handling the heavy logs. Admiringly, Throppy 
noted the play of his banded sinews. 

The first of Throppy’s logs was now being sawed. 
Going round to the other end of the mill, he watched 
the marker at his work. As fast as the boards came 
off, Doggett laid his rule^ across each, and penciled 
on it the number of feet it contained; then young 
Tug Prince pushed it along the hard-wood rolls, and 
gave it a final shoot off the last into the pit. 

Occasionally the marker “pegged up” his count on 
the tally board above the slab bench. A solid square 
of one hundred holes gave him opportunity for keep- 
ing a record of anything up to that number of feet; to 
one side of this square was a row of ten holes for 
reckoning the hundreds; while another similar row 
over its top sufficed for tallying the thousands. 

61 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

Thus he could tell at any time just how much had 
been sawed that day. Other tally-boards beside the 
first afforded a chance for recording boards of differ- 
ent thicknesses. 

Budge, standing on the floor of the pit at the end 
of the mill, received the boards from the pusher, and 
distributed them among the three or four different 
wagons, or “riggings,” standing ready. Chris Brem- 
er, the yardman, came up the pit road with his blacks. 
Backing his empty wagon into its place, he harnessed 
his pair to one of the loaded “riggings” and started 
back for the sticking ground. Throppy accompanied 
him; he was determined to see the process through. 

At the ground Chris dumped the boards off; and 
Mark Potter and Sereno Goff piled them up. The 
pine that had raised its lofty head over a hundred 
feet in air only a few hours before had been reduced to 
brush, sawdust, and perhaps a thousand and a half 
feet of boards, drying on the sticks. 

It seemed almost a pity. As Throppy glanced 
from the stately, dark-green forest to the flat piles 
of yellowish lumber he understood something of 
Merrithew’s prejudice against tree butchers. 

Whee-ee-ee! 

Percy had pulled the whistle. Half past eleven. 
Throppy started back for the mill and dinner. 


V 


FIRST AID 



'HE partly sawed log on the carriage was finished; 


* then the mill shut down. Percy opened the 
smoke-arch door and propped it, and everybody 
went to dinner. The choppers and other local men 
straggled in, to eat from their tin pails under the 
adjacent pines and the mill roof. The teamsters 
unhooked and fed their horses. After the meal was 
over, some of the men lighted their pipes. 

Budge sauntered out toward the county road. 
Jim, Throppy, and Percy sat down to listen to the 
talk of the men. The hot noon air was fragrant with 
the smell of sawdust and the odor of myriads of pine 
needles. 

“Heard anything of that moose lately?” asked 
Jerry Ladd of Gordon McAulifFe. 

Percy pricked up his ears. 

“Y es,” returned McAuliffe. “Cal Wooster saw him 
two nights ago on the upper edge of his pasture. 
Just got a glimpse of him, and then he was gone.” 

“I didn’t know there were any moose in this part 
of the state,” said Percy. 

“There aren’t, generally. This one must have 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

wandered down out of the big woods. He’s been 
seen about here, off and on, for six months.” 

“I’ve a twenty-two rifle in my suitcase,” observed 
Percy. “Thought it might be useful for target 
shooting, if nothing more. Guess I’ll put it together 
and look round a little.” 

McAulifFe’s laugh was almost a sneer. Pie was of 
a clumsy, stumpy build, with a long upper lip and 
a disagreeable mouth. 

“An animal as big as that ’d mind a twenty-two 
about as much as he would the bite of one of these 
mosquitoes,” he remarked, sarcastically. “Besides, 
it’s close time. It ’d cost something to kill that 
moose!” 

Budge came up the road with a handful of letters 
and papers. 

“Here you are, fellows! Everybody gets some- 
thing.” 

The boys received their mail joyously. 

“Where in the world did that drop from?” inquired 
Jim. “An aeroplane?” 

“Barham rural free delivery,” answered Budge. 
“We’re Route Four, Box Five. The mail carrier goes 
by at half past eleven. I nailed a box up on a post 
at the entrance of our road last night. Holway & 
Benner promised to tell him to start leaving mail for 
us to-day.” 

Bremer’s blacks, tied to a neighboring pine, were 
stamping and switching their tails. 

“ Horse flies!” said the Dane. “I’ll fix ’em!” 

64 


FIRST AID 


Taking an old tin can, he drew some engine oil from 
the barrel and rubbed it over the hot, twitching skin 
of his pair. The other teamsters followed his 
example. 

“That ’ll keep ’em from being bitten until they 
sweat it off,” said Bremer. 

“Black flies in May, midges in June, mosquitoes 
and horse flies all summer,” commented McAuliffe, 
sardonically. “There’s always something to bother 
round a portable mill. Wet in the spring, hot in the 
summer, cold in the winter; snow and ice and rain 
and mud. And sometimes there’s other things 
you’d never look for.” 

He glanced about at his mates and winked mean- 
ingly; two or three winked back. It was the same 
secret understanding that had puzzled the boys be- 
fore. Briggs changed the subject by taking a lump 
of bluish metal from his pocket. 

“See what I picked out of a board this morning!” 

He handed it round. It was two-thirds of a flat- 
tened bullet. 

“Must have been fired into the tree years ago, and 
the scar healed over,” said Briggs. “Sawed clean 
through it.” 

“Do you often run across things of that sort?” 
asked Jim. 

“Now and then. Nails don’t trouble us much. 
They’re so small we can cut ’em off*. But spikes are 
a different proposition. When we strike one of them, 
the fire flies and the teeth go. Once I hit two rail- 

65 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

road spikes; they took three or four teeth and shoul- 
ders, but the saw got through ’em. Keep the bullet, 
boys! I don’t want it.” 

He started to file the saw, and the boys went over 
to watch him. Meanwhile Doggett was oiling up. 

“How long do those inserted teeth last?” asked 
Percy. 

“A set ought to saw about two hundred thousand 
feet of good pine like this, or over a hundred thousand 
of oak. ThenVe throw ’em away. Come on, ’Gene ! 
Let’s fix that loose belt that kept slipping off this 
morning!” 

Sawyer and marker unlaced the belt, cut off* an 
end, punched new holes, and laced it up again. Be- 
fore they finished, half past twelve had come, and the 
whistle screeched deafeningly while Percy held the 
wire down for fifteen seconds. Soon the saw was 
throwing pine dust again and the mill was in full 
activity. 

After watching the work for a while, Throppy 
wandered out into the woods. Gradually the rumble 
of machinery and the hissing of steam were softened 
by distance, though the shriek of the saw, rising and 
dying away, continued to be distinctly audible. 
Unconsciously he followed a course that led him 
toward Merrithew’s lot. 

A quarter hour of aimless but enjoyable tramping 
brought him to a deep gully. Its sides were lined 
with mossy rocks and ledges; through its bottom 
flowed a tinkling brook. Suspecting that this stream 
66 


FIRST AID 


might contain trout, he descended to investigate. 
To his amazement, his ears were greeted by a groan, 
followed by an unintelligible muttering. 

He stopped and listened. Another groan, and 
then another. Somebody must be hurt. Throppy 
hurried down the gully in the direction of the sounds. 
They grew louder, and soon he came in sight of the 
figure of a man lying upon a ledge. His legs were 
covered, almost up to the knees, by a large rock, 
which had evidently fallen upon them. 

Tfiroppy gave a shout and leaped forward. The 
man, who lay back to him, turned his head, then tried 
to rise, but collapsed with an exclamation of pain. It 
was Merrithew, the hermit. 

The boy was quickly at the prisoner’s side. Push- 
ing his hands under the rock, he lifted hard; but it 
was so heavy that he could not even stir it. Mer- 
rithew groaned again and shut his eyes, Throppy 
ceased his unavailing efforts and started up. 

“I’m going for help!” he cried. “I’ll be back in a 
little while!” 

The hermit made no reply, but his face showed 
that he was suffering intensely. Throppy sprang up 
the bank and ran as fast as he could to the mill. 
Without wasting a moment, he explained Merrithew’s 
predicament. 

Briggs stopped the saw in the middle of a log, 
Doggett closed the throttle, and the whole crew 
knocked off. 

“Shut your draught!” ordered the sawyer. “Let 

67 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

her blow off! It won’t do any hurt for a few min- 
utes. Fetch along those peaveys and rolling-hooks! 
That crowbar, too! We’ll need it. Take the ax, 
’Gene! It may come in handy.” 

Everybody grabbed whatever he could lay his 
hands on, and started on the run for the gully, 
Throppy in the lead. In a short time they were leap- 
ing down the bank. They were none too soon. 
Merrithew had fainted. 

Briggs pursed his lips into a whistle. 

“No wonder he couldn’t drag himself out from 
under that rock! It’s a good lift for half a dozen 
men. 

It proved to be all that, before they were able to 
raise it off the hermit’s legs. It was evident that his 
feet and ankles were badly bruised, but just how 
seriously they could not tell. He was still insensible. 

“Better take him to his own camp, hadn’t we?” 
asked Budge. 

“I guess that’s where he’d want to go,” said Briggs. 
“Cut a couple of those little spruces, ’Gene, and we’ll 
make a stretcher.” 

In a short time the rough litter was ready. Lifting 
Merrithew carefully, they laid him upon it. From 
their previous accidental visit to his camp, they had 
an idea of its general direction; so it was not long 
before they reached it. The door was unfastened. 
Carrying the unconscious man in, they placed him 
in his bunk; he stirred and muttered feebly. 

“I’ll go on my motorcycle for Doctor Melvin,” 
68 


FIRST AID 


volunteered Budge. “The rest of you can give him 
first aid until we get back.” 

Ke was off on the run. In a few minutes the quick 
thudding of his exhaust could be beard as he sped 
out of the mill clearing. Merrithew’s shoes were 
taken off and he was made as comfortable as pos- 
sible. Meanwhile a fire was kindled in the stove and 
a kettle of water put on to heat. The hermit lay 
silent, his eyes wandering from one to another of his 
rescuers; now and then a spasm of pain contorted his 
face. 

“Well,” said Briggs, “Gene and I might as well 
go back to the mill. We can’t do anything more 
here.” 

Percy went with them; but Jim and Throppy 
remained. In less than half an hour they heard the 
exhaust of Budge’s machine, mingled with that of a 
motor car. A little later Budge himself appeared, 
accompanied by a strongly built young man with a 
pleasant face. 

“Here’s Doctor Melvin!” remarked Budge. “I 
was lucky enough to catch him just before he start- 
ed on his afternoon trip. We didn’t lose any time 
getting here.” 

“Sorry to hear of your accident, Mr. Merrithew,” 
said the doctor. “If other people didn’t call me any 
oftener than you do, I’d starve to death.” 

He made a quick examination of the injured man’s 
limbs. 

“ Badly bruised, but nothing broken, so far as I 
69 


6 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

can tell without the X-ray,” was his verdict. “The 
rough places on that rock must have held it up, or 
your legs ’d have been crushed flat. With your good 
health you ought to be all right in a few weeks. 
About all you’ll need to do is to bathe your feet in 
hot water two or three times a day, and keep off ’em 
for a while.” 

The hermit’s face showed that he did not relish the 
idea of inactivity. 

“But how am I to do my cooking and other camp 
work?” he asked. 

“You’re not going to do anything at all for a while. 
You’re to keep quiet. You can thank these young men 
and their friends that things are no worse. You’ll 
have to lean on them for a fortnight or so. Guess 
they’ll see that a neighbor doesn’t suffer!” 

Budge jumped at the chance of atoning for his 
inconsiderate speech of some days before. 

“We’ll be glad to look out for him,” he offered. 
“It ’ll be no work at all for one of us to run over here 
any time and do whatever is needed.” 

Mingled feelings struggled on Merrithew’s face. 

“I should think I ought to be able to hobble about 
and do what little has to be done, myself,” he per- 
sisted, stubbornly. 

But the doctor was equally stubborn. 

“Not for a minute! You’ll do just as I tell you 
and lie flat on your back, or I’ll throw up your case. 
It’s the only way, unless you want to be taken up to 
the village, hire a room, and have somebody nurse 
70 


FIRST AID 


you. And you’ll be a good deal more comfortable 
right here in your own camp.” 

The hermit groaned and capitulated. 

“Well, I s’pose I’ll have to do as you say. I’ll pay 
’em.” 

Melvin laughed. 

“You can settle that between yourselves. Guess 
it won’t be very hard for you to patch up an agree- 
ment.” 

With a few final instructions regarding the care of 
his patient the doctor departed. The water was not 
yet hot enough to use. Merrithew lay back and 
closed his eyes, while Budge, Jim, and Throppy 
stepped outside to talk the matter over. 

“Let me take care of him,” begged Throppy. 
“The rest of you are busy and I haven’t a thing to do. 
It ’ll be light work, and it’ll help me to feel that I’m 
doing something to earn my salt.” 

Jim and Budge exchanged glances. Each read 
assent in the other’s look. 

“He’s your patient, Throppy,” consented Budge. 
“Only you must promise to call on us for help in case 
there’s any heavy lifting or other such work to be 
done. Perhaps you can smooth out the unpleasant- 
ness I started by going at him bullheaded. But 
don’t say anything again about not earning your 
salt; I don’t like to hear you talk that way. Come 
on, Jim! Let’s hike back to the mill!” 

The two disappeared toward the Peavey lot, leav- 
ing Throppy with his charge. He stepped inside the 
7i 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

cabin and put a couple of sticks of dry birch into the 
stove. Soon the water began to steam. Glancing 
at the bunk, he saw that the hermit’s eyes were 
open. 

“What shall I empty this kettle into?” asked 
Throppy. 

Merrithew nodded toward a foot-bath in a corner. 
Throppy filled it, and presently, with his assistance, 
the cripple was sitting in a chair, his bruised and 
swollen feet in the hot water. It was a painful treat- 
ment, but a beneficial one. At the end of a half hour 
he went back to his bunk. 

Throppy did what little was necessary to put the 
room in order. Then he sat down by the table. 

“Don’t you want to read?” asked his patient. 
“There’s some books and magazines.” 

Selecting from the well-stocked shelf a current 
periodical, Throppy was soon deep in an article on a 
new application of electricity. Halfway through it, 
he glanced up, and found Merrithew regarding him 
with a steady gaze. 

“Can I do anything for you?” asked the boy. 
“No.” 

The next time Throppy looked, the recluse’s eyes 
were shut and his regular breathing told that he was 
sleeping soundly. He did not wake till the mill 
whistle screeched at five o’clock. To please him, 
Throppy consented to stay to supper, and, aided 
by his suggestions, began to prepare a light meal. 
Against one wall stood a kitchen cabinet, fully equip- 
72 


FIRST AID 


ped, and abundantly supplied with provisions. 
Throppy toasted a few biscuits and opened a can of 
soup. He was interrupted by a knock at the door. 
Jim, Budge, and Percy had dropped over to see how 
he was getting on. 

“We won’t come in this time. How’s your 
patient?” 

“In some pain; but as well as could be expected.” 

“Can’t we help?” 

“Nothing to do! I’ll be home later.” 

After supper Throppy cleared up. The excite- 
ment of the afternoon had somewhat overtaxed his 
strength and he moved about slowly. Merrithew 
was watching him with keen eyes. 

“Aren’t you well ?” 

“Only a little tired. I worked too hard last winter 
at college and my full strength hasn’t come back yet. 
But this summer in the woods ought to put me on my 
feet.” 

He coughed slightly. The hermit looked con- 
cerned, but did not pursue the topic further. In- 
stead, he began speaking of his accident. 

“We had a heavy rain two weeks ago, and it must 
have washed the earth out from beneath that rock. 
I slipped off its top and fell in front of it just as it 
started to move. Before I could get my feet out 
they were pinned down. If you hadn’t found me 
I’d be there now. It was too far off for me to make 
anybody else hear.” 

“You know my opinion of portable sawmills,” he 
73 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

continued. “But I’ll have to confess it was lucky for 
me that you boys were operating on the Peavey lot. 
Sorry I spoke to you as I did; but your light-haired 
friend stirred me up.” 

“He’s blamed himself for it ever since,” said 
Throppy, eagerly. 

“He needn’t feel that way. Tell him everything’s 
all right. Now there’s nothing more you can do for 
me to-night. I’d be glad to offer you accommoda- 
tions here; but you’ll sleep better in your own 
bunk.” 

“It doesn’t seem hardly right for me to leave you 
alone.” 

“I’ve lived this way for more than twenty years. 
Nursed myself through an attack of the grip once. 
Nothing ’ll happen to me. Go and get a good night’s 
rest.” 

Throppy’s heart was light as he hurried back to 
his own camp. They were to be friends with their 
nearest neighbor, after all. The other boys were 
equally pleased when they learned what Merrithew 
had said. 

“I’m sorry it took an accident to bring it about,” 
remarked Budge. “But I’m mighty glad he’s ex- 
tended the olive branch; from now on it’s up to us to 
make it as pleasant for him as we can.” 

Shortly after supper Percy disappeared. He was 
discovered sitting alone on a stump near the mill, 
killing mosquitoes, and penciling certain cabalistic 
marks on a block of paper. 

74 


FIRST AID 


“What ’re you doing, Perce?” inquired Budge. 

“Can’t you see? Don’t bother me! You’ll make 
me lose my count. Forty-three!” 

“The heat’s gone to his head, Jim. Catch him 
and tie him to that pine before he becomes violent; 
and I’ll make another trip after Doc Melvin.” 

“I suppose I’ve got to explain,” said Percy, resign- 
edly. “You common intellects have little sympathy 
with the truly scientific mind. I’m conducting an 
important experiment. It’s my theory that the 
mosquito, being endowed with short wings, has a 
limited radius of operation. In other words, he 
sticks about one spot, and keeps the home fires 
burning. Hence there’s a definite number of him 
in any single place. If I kill all that stay round 
this stump, I can sit here in comfort. I’m try- 
ing to figure how many there are to the square 
yard. Now get out and don’t bother me any more! 
Forty-four!” 

“Good for you, Perce!” exclaimed Budge. “ Keep 
at it! When you’ve established your dead line let 
me know, and I’ll come into the magic circle and sit 
down with you.” 

They strolled over to the mill to talk with Briggs 
and Doggett, leaving Percy killing and counting. 
Some minutes later they came back, the sawyer with 
them. Percy was in the cabin, anointing his neck 
and wrists with witch hazel. 

“How about that theory, Sir Isaac Newton?” 
asked Jim. 


75 


JIM SPURLING, M1LLMAN 

‘‘Experiment unsatisfactory,” returned Percy. 
“Radius of operation of subject wider than antici- 
pated; in fact, apparently limitless. I stopped at one 
hundred and nineteen, with more round me than 
when I started. Theory’s all right, only it doesn’t 
work!” 

“I’ve heard of other theories that had the same 
trouble,” was Jim’s comment. 

“You’ll get vaccinated after a while,” said Briggs. 
“I’ve known of choppers on low land being driven 
almost crazy. By and by, after they’ve been bitten 
up in good shape, they seem to grow immune.” 

“Tired, Throppy?” inquired Budge. 

“Some. But it’s a healthy tired. I’ll sleep it off.” 

“This life’s just as I thought it ’d be,” said Budge. 
“We’ll probably find it a little quiet and dull. For 
excitement, a saw-tooth ’ll break occasionally; or 
Perce ’ll stick a splinter into his finger or get bitten 
by a mosquito. In a place like this everybody minds 
his own business. But I’d like to know why those 
two men who contracted with father threw up the 
job.” 

“Some of these choppers and teamsters might be 
able to tell us, ” observed Jim. “They act to me as if 
they knew something we don’t know.” 

“They probably know a lot of things,” said Budge. 

“I don’t mean that. They act in a peculiar way. 
Every now and then, when they thought we weren’t 
looking, I’ve caught ’em winking and grinning at one 
another.” 


76 


FIRST AID 


“ Perhaps later on we’ll find out the reason*” said 
Budge. 

In Grannitt’s office that night the smoky lamp was 
burning. 

“Well, Ches,” inquired the lawyer, “when are you 
going to start your fireworks?” 

“Right away,” replied Legore. “Guess I’ll drop 
round to the mill to-morrer an’ pretend to dicker with 
’em. I’ll make ’em an offer; but it ’ll be so low they 
won’t take it, an’ I don’t want ’em to. They’ve put 
their heads into the trap too far to pull ’em out, an’ 
now they’re goin’ to get it in the neck. ” 


VI 


UNMASKED 


HE next day was Friday. Before breakfast 



**■ Budge, Jim, and Percy went down for their cus- 
tomary dip in the lake, while Throppy made an 
early call on his patient. He found that the hermit 
had passed a fairly easy night, though his feet still 
caused him considerable discomfort. 

“IVe nothing to complain of,” said Merrithew. 
“ Might be a sight worse off.” 

Throppy prepared breakfast, and shared it with 
his charge. 

“ Now,” said the latter, “ Fd like to see Mr. Lane 
a few minutes, if he can spare the time. Alone, 
please!” 

Roger came over. He started to apologize for his 
abruptness at their first interview; but Merrithew 
checked him. 

“Never mind about that! It was a mistake any- 
body might make. Besides, you more than squared 
matters yesterday. Guess I was a little too hard on 
you boys. I don’t like to see those trees come down; 
but it can’t be helped. Somebody else would cut ’em, 
if you didn’t. And I know the money you get ’ll be 


UNMASKED 


put to a good use. Now I want to ask you something 
about Mr. Stevens. His lungs are weak, aren’t 
they?” 

“Yes,” acknowledged Budge, reluctantly. 

“ I thought so. Suppose he’d be willing to take a 
woods tonic, if I recommended it ? It can’t hurt him, 
and I’ve known of its doing a heap of good.” 

“I’m sure he’d be glad to take anything that would 
help him; you don’t realize how much it ’d mean to 
the rest of us to have him get well. What is the 
remedy?” 

“Break off fresh hemlock boughs every morn- 
ing, steep ’em, and let him take a drink of the 
liquid two or three times a day. It’s the bitterest 
stuff you ever tasted; but you’ll find that it ’ll 
help his appetite, and that he’ll begin to pick up 
in other ways. It’s done wonders in several cases 
I’ve known of.” 

“Sounds good to me,” said Budge. “You can put 
it up to him, when he comes over this noon.” 

“Trouble, Cap’n!” remarked Briggs, on Lane’s 
return to the mill. 

“What’s that?” 

“ Brook’s dryin’ up ! We’ve got to draw our water 
from somewhere else.” 

“What are we going to do?” 

“Lengthen the pipe and take our supply from the 
lake. It’s less than a thousand feet off; and it isn’t 
much lower than the pool we’re drawin’ from now. 
We can couple on the little engine and pump packed 
79 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

away in those boxes, and then we won’t have to 
worry.” 

Budge accepted the situation. 

“ Let’s figure how much extra pipe we need, and 
I’ll run up to Kimball’s on my wheel and ’phone to 
Parcherville for it. They can send it out on the 
truck this afternoon.” 

A quick survey, made by Roger and his mentor, 
showed what was required. 

“Six hundred feet more ’ll do the trick,” decided 
Briggs. 

The mill shut down a half hour early that noon to 
give time for tightening a loose belt. The last log 
was a small one. In going through it the saw wab- 
bled, so that Briggs had to back up and try again. 

“What’s the matter?” asked Jim. 

“Sliver ,” 1 returned the sawyer. “It’s the soft, 
slippery inside bark of sapling pine, and this ’s the 
month it bothers. Rolls down the side of the saw 
and makes it ‘snake.’ It won’t trouble us much 
longer. ” 

While Throppy was getting Merrithew’s dinner, 
the hermit broached the subject of his remedy. 

“You need a tonic,” he declared. 

Then he extolled the virtues of the drink to be made 
by steeping hemlock. Throppy was not enthusi- 
astic, but to please his patient consented to bring 
some fresh boughs the next morning. 

After dinner the crew took their usual siesta about 


1 Pronounced with the “ i ” long. 

80 


UNMASKED 


the clearing. Maliber’s hound Jack began snuffing 
and digging excitedly under the slab-pile beside the 
mill. 

“Woodchuck,” guessed his owner. 

Everybody watched. 

“Last spring I helped set a mill in New Hamp- 
shire,” said Doggett. “When we dug the first post 
hole, at two feet deep we broke into a burrow and 
came plump on a chuck just waking from his winter 
sleep. My boy’s got him now.” 

Jack was half under the pile, making the dirt fly. 
Suddenly he backed out, ki-yi-ing, followed by a 
bristling, brownish ball. It uncoiled into a small 
animal, which started on a waddling run for the 
woods. 

“Porcupine!” rose the general shout. 

McAuliffe seized an ax. 

“I’ll cook his goose!” 

His chum, Jerry Ladd, caught his arm. 

“Let him go, Gordon! He’s won his life from the 
dog.” 

While they were struggling, the beast escaped. 
Jack ran whimpering to his master, his bleeding nose 
stuck full of quills. 

“Poor fellow!” comforted Maliber. 

Clutching the hound by the scruflP of the neck, he 
held him firmly between his knees. 

“Bring a pair of pincers, Louis!” he ordered. 

The operation promised to be long and painful. 
But Briggs intervened. 

81 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

“Hold on a minute! I know a better way than 
that. Anybody got some scissors ?” 

Percy brought a pair from the boys’ cabin. While 
the Frenchman kept Jack’s head motionless, Briggs 
snipped off* a quill halfway from its end. Then he 
easily pulled it out with his fingers. He repeated 
the process, until the hound’s nose was entirely free 
from the painful darts. 

“Simple enough!” he explained. “A porcupine 
quill’s hollow. Let out the air and it flattens and 
loses its stiffness. After that the barb doesn’t stick.” 

It was half past twelve. Percy pulled the whistle 
wire. The shriek of the escaping steam had not 
ceased echoing when an open wagon, drawn by a sor- 
rel horse and containing a single occupant, appeared 
at the end of the wood road. The driver was a stout, 
red-faced man in a brownish suit; Jim remembered 
seeing him at Barham Four Corners on the day of 
their arrival. As he drove past the brow, Spurling 
nodded, but the stranger did not return the greeting. 
Stopping his horse not far from the boiler, he cast a 
long, scowling look about the mill and clearing. 

Jim saw McAuliffe, his face on the broad grin, 
nudge Ladd. Something was up. What? He did 
not have to wait long to find out. 

“Who’s the boss here?” demanded the newcomer. 

His surly manner and the air of authority with 
which he spoke, together with the fact that he had not 
troubled to reply to Jim’s greeting, woke in Spurling 
a feeling of strong repulsion. 

82 


UNMASKED 


“If he hasn’t any politeness to waste on me, I’ve 
none to waste on him,” he determined. 

Striking his rolling-hook into a log, he started it 
toward the carriage. At this deliberate disregard of 
his inquiry the flush on the man’s face deepened to a 
dull, angry beet red. Percy, who had been dragging 
slabs down the shoot, and so had missed this futile 
passage between his mate and the stranger, turned 
just in time to hear the latter repeat his question: 

“I asked who was boss here!” 

The tone in which the words were uttered did not 
impress young Whittington any more favorably than 
they had impressed Jim. He jerked his thumb 
toward the pit. 

“There’s your man!” he replied, curtly. 

Starting up his horse, the visitor drove round the 
front end of the boiler, and came upon Budge receiv- 
ing boards from the hands of Tug Prince. For a 
moment the two eyed each other in silence. 

“Are you Roger Lane?” 

The question was shot out like a bullet; and it 
brought back a reply, equally short and direct. 

“That’s my name!” 

The rumble of the machinery ceased. Briggs had 
discovered that another belt needed tightening. The 
sudden lull gave all an opportunity to hear the con- 
versation between Budge and his interlocutor. 
Choppers and teamsters stood waiting with grins of 
anticipation. The stranger knit his brows and 
frowned. 


83 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

“Well, Pm Legore, H. Chesley Legore,” said he, 
overbearingly. 

If he expected the announcement to have any 
particular effect on his hearer, he was disappointed. 
Budge refused to be impressed. 

. “Yes,” he said. 

Somebody smothered a snicker. Legore’s tem- 
per was rising; but he restrained himself and tried 
another tack. 

“I’ve handled about all the lumber that’s been cut 
in this town for a good many years, an’ I’ve come to 
see if I can’t make a deal with you to take this lot off 
your hands.” 

Budge added an inch-and-a-quarter board to the 
pile on the rigging to the left. He shook his head. 

“It’s too late now for us to try to dicker, Mr. 
Legore. We’re started in good shape and we intend 
to see the thing through. Besides, I don’t think 
you’d be willing to give us anything near what 
we’d want. You couldn’t come to terms with my 
father.” 

Impatiently the lumberman flicked the wagon 
wheel with his whip. He was not used to being 
thwarted. He tried again. 

“There’s a lot o’ risks in this business. You’re 
liable to find it pretty expensive, before you wind up. 
When you’ve learned more about it, p’r’aps you’ll be 
readier to listen to reason.” 

“We’ll take our chances,” returned Budge, shortly. 

He did not relish Legore’s patronizing tone. 

84 


UNMASKED 

“ Who’s workin’ for you here, anyway ?” continued 
the lumberman. 

With cool insolence he ran his eye over the scat- 
tered crew, noting them one by one. His hostile 
stare evidently made some of the men uneasy; they 
colored and looked away. Only McAuiiffe met his 
gaze evenly. Legore’s eyes had a malignant twinkle 
as he fixed them again on Budge. 

“Ye-es,” he pondered. “I see! But it’s one 
thing to git a crowd together in the summertime an’ 
another to hold ’em. I’ve always found it so.” 

Budge was growing tired of the conversation. He 
turned away and hailed the sawyer. 

“How long before you’ll be ready to start again, 
Ote?” 

Under Legore’s sunburnt skin the veins purpled 
slowly. He did not relish being treated in this cava- 
lier fashion. His lips drew away from his teeth; his 
bulldog jaw pushed forward. 

“You college fellers think you know it all,” he 
sneered. “I’ve tried to use ye fair an’ right; but 
you don’t seem to appreciate it. But you just store 
this away in your brain box: There’s more ways to 
kill a cat than by chokin’ her to death with cream.” 

Budge’s temper, always quick to flare up, got out 
of hand for a moment. He paid Legore back in kind. 

“I guess you’re right, when the cream’s skim milk, 
and sour at that.” 

Roused to fury by this unexpected retort, the lum- 
berman threw discretion to the winds. 

85 


7 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

‘Til teach you to sass me, you young shrimp I” he 
roared, his tones husky with rage. “Before you 
butted in I had your father pinched just like that!” 

He snapped his thumb and forefinger. His voice 
rose to a bull-like bellow. He was working himself 
up into a passion, while the boys regarded him with 
amazement. 

“You hear me! I’ll show you, sonny! It ’ll 
be a sorry day for you an’ your crowd when you 
first struck Barham! Oh yes! You’ll always re- 
member H. C. Legore! I’m the perfesser that ’ll 
teach you some things you don’t learn from books!” 

He swept his arm round with a gesture of owner- 
ship. 

“This is my lumber — see? An’ this ’ll be my mill! 
Before the end o’ the summer I’m goin’ to own every- 
thing in sight. Mark that!” 

Smarting with discomfiture, he slashed his sorrel, 
turned his wagon short, and started past the boiler on 
the run. His right wheel collided with a high stump, 
and he came to an abrupt stop, almost upsetting. 
To avoid the obstacle, he whirled to the left, coming 
close to Jim, who was standing on the brow. The 
sight of Spurling’s calm face only inflamed his fury. 

“Git out o’ my way,” he snarled, “or I’ll give you 
a taste o’ this whip!” 

He half raised his weapon. Jim’s easy pose stiff- 
ened. 

“ Better not,” he warned, quietly. 

Legore reconsidered, and the blow never fell. 

86 


UNMASKED 


“You’re the king pin o’ this bunch o’ trouble 
makers,” he growled. “What you need is a good 
lickin.’ I’ve half a mind to hop out o’ this wagon an’ 
give ye one now. I would if you didn’t have that 
rollin’-hook!” 

Three seconds later the hook dropped fifty feet 
away among the pines. Jim smiled; he stood easily, 
waiting. Legore looked for a moment at his well- 
poised, strongly knit figure. Budge came round the 
end of the boiler, and Briggs started out of the mill. 
Their approach gave the wrathful lumberman an 
excuse for not carrying out his threat. 

“I’m not fool enough to tackle the hull caboodle o’ 
ye! You’d all be on my back, if I gave ye half a 
chance. That lickin’ ’ll keep. You an’ I were made 
to have trouble with each other. I’ll settle with ye 
later on!” 

He lifted the reins. 

“Hold on a minute, Mr. Legore,” said Jim, and 
there was iron in his voice. “You’ve had your say, 
and now I’m going to have mine. Y ou’ve come on here 
without being invited, and you’ve abused and threat- 
ened us without any reason. We’re doing nothing 
wrong. We’re perfectly within our rights in contract- 
ing to saw this lumber; and we’re not going to stop 
until we’re through. I’ve just one thing to say to 
you. Get off this lot, and stay off! I’ll give you two 
minutes to leave. If I ever catch you on here again. 
I’ll throw you off!” 

A red tide surged up over Legore’s face until the 
87 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

blood-vessels seemed surcharged almost to the point 
of bursting. Then the flood receded, leaving him 
almost pale. His voice was cold with fury. 

“ You’re too small fry for me to fool with now,” he 
ground out, chokingly. “You may not see me here 
again, an’ then you may; but you’ll hear from me 
an’ you’ll feel me. Before I get through I’ll break 
the hull tribe o’ ye!” 

Cutting the sorrel viciously with his whip, he 
rattled at a gallop out through the wood road. 


VII 


THUNDER AND LIGHTNING 


HE boys looked at one another silently, as they 



A listened to the dying rattle of Legore’s wagon. 
Ten minutes had not elapsed since he had entered the 
clearing; but that brief space had sufficed to give an 
entirely new aspect to their summer at Barham. 
The choppers and teamsters dispersed to their respec- 
tive tasks, their talk and laughter growing louder the 
further they got from the mill. An outburst from 
McAuliffe grated with particular unpleasantness on 
Budge’s ears. 

“ Pretty ugly, wasn’t he?” said Percy. “ Acted as 
if he thought he owned the earth, or at least that part 
of it inside the Barham line.” 

Budge’s face was crimson, and there was a deter- 
mined sparkle in his eye. 

“If Mr. H. C. Legore thinks he can scare us off, 
he’s barking up the wrong tree,” he remarked. 
“He’ll find that bluff and bulldozing don’t cut much 
ice here! Jim handed it to him straight and I’m 
glad he did. From now on, he wants to keep away 
from the Peavey lot.” 

“What d’you suppose he’ll try to do?” 


89 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

“His worst, whatever that may be. He’ll hang to 
his grudge, like a bulldog gnawing a bone; and he’ll 
bother us all he can. I’ve seen men like him before. 
Weil, we’ll go ahead and mind our own business, and 
expect him to mind his.” 

The mill crew felt sober as they turned to resume 
their duties. Their unexpected visitor had put a 
decided damper on their spirits. The next three 
months promised to be not so quiet and pleasant, after 
all. 

“I like to be on good terms with everybody,” said 
Budge, “but I don’t propose to let a man of that sort 
use me for a door mat. Come on ! Let’s get to work 
and forget him! No sense in letting him break up 
any more of our afternoon.” 

“Jim,” remarked Briggs, as he grasped his lever, 
“how’d you like to learn to saw?” 

“Guess I’ve got my hands full rolling!” 

“No, you haven’t. I’ve been keeping an eye on 
you and I’ve never seen a raw recruit juggle logs any 
better. We’ll turn you into a first-class millman be- 
fore the summer’s over.” 

“Don’t you think I’d make a good sawyer,” asked 
Lane. 

“No, Roger, you wouldn’t,” replied Briggs, bluntly. 
“And I’ll tell you why. You’re geared too high and 
you’re liable to fly off the handle. Jim has as much 
temper as you have; but he keeps it under, and you 
don’t — always. He’s got nerve, and you’ve got 
nerves. That little final ‘s’ makes all the difference 
90 


THUNDER AND LIGHTNING 


in the world. He’s not so slow, either; when there’s 
any need, I’ll guarantee he can act quick enough. 
Legore would have found that out if he had hung 
round here a minute or so longer.” 

“Don’t blush, Jim,” counseled Budge. “He 
never means more than half what he says. Well, 
Ote, my nose is out of joint; just the same, I’m in- 
clined to think you’re at least three-quarters right. 
It’s a good idea for Jim to learn. A man in a mill 
can’t know how to do too many things.” 

“Correct!” approved the sawyer. “If anybody’s 
taken sick or gets hurt, it sometimes means a shifting 
about of the whole crew. Better let ’Gene freshen 
you up a bit on marking. Then at a pinch you could 
fit in there.” 

During the next two hours between intervals of 
sawing Briggs found Jim an apt pupil. The college 
boy watched and listened keenly, throwing in an 
occasional question. Admiringly he noted the skill 
with which the older man controlled the operation of 
the whirling steel disk. 

“By good rights,” said Briggs, “a sawyer should 
be a tall man with a long reach; they’re not always 
made that way, but it’s a mighty handy build to have. 
He ought to be cool and use judgment, and keep a 
sharp watch over everything that’s going on in the 
mill. The number of feet turned out in a day de- 
pends principally on him, for he can quicken up or 
slow down the whole crew by the way he handles the 
carriage. He must look out and not ‘snub’ the saw — 
9i 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

that is, he musn’t crowd it too hard or jump it into 
the cut. Its sound and the feel of the lever tell him 
what to do; by and by it gets to be a kind of second 
nature with him and he acts from instinct. Remem- 
ber this: There may be a lot of good ways to do a 
thing, but there’s only one best way; and that’s the 
way you want to learn, not only in mill work, but in 
everything else.” 

“That saw’s a pretty dangerous thing, isn’t it?” 
said Jim. 

“It is if a man doesn’t watch sharp. The saw- 
yer’s got to be alive all the time. A single slip might 
cost him his life. With those teeth going round seven 
hundred times a minute, whatever happens, happens 
quick. I’ve known of some bad accidents, where 
men have fallen upon saws or have had their clothing 
caught by them. Then there’s the danger from 
broken logs. I’ve seen a saw throw a log clean 
through the end of a mill. One thing you can put 
down good and solid — the sawyer’s berth is no place 
for a man who drinks.” 

At about three o’clock the truck arrived from 
Parcherville with the extra six hundred feet of supply 
pipe. As the water in the boiler was getting low 
Budge judged it better to shut down until connec- 
tions could be made with the lake. It took the rest 
of the working day to do this and to install the pump 
and little engine; but before Percy banked his fire for 
the night everything was in good running order. 
The engine and pump also gave them additional pro- 
92 


THUNDER AND LIGHTNING 

tection against fire; for by means of a length of rub- 
ber hose they could now wet down the ground for 
almost a hundred feet and throw a stream on any 
part of the plant. 

The other camps for those of the men and horses 
that were to stop near the mill were now completed 
and the little settlement on the Peavey lot assumed a 
more lively aspect. 

That night, after an early supper, Budge, Percy, 
and Jim decided to go fishing on the lake. Pending 
the construction of their own boat, with Jim as master 
builder, they had arranged to have the use of a flat- 
bottomed, nondescript craft belonging to Joshua 
Kimball. This battered skiff possessed a single pair 
of oars. In the forward thwart was a hole through 
which could be stepped a movable mast, carrying a 
ragged spritsail. The outside of the boat had 
originally been painted; but time and rough usage 
had combined to remove all but a few flakes of an 
indistinguishable color. To crown all, the craft 
leaked badly. 

But these disadvantages in no wise cooled the 
ardor of the enthusiastic fishermen. Jim in par- 
ticular was eager to get afloat once more. Most 
of the water aboard was bailed out by means of an 
empty baked-bean can and the three embarked. 
Briggs and Doggett had strolled down to see them 
set forth. 

“Keep your eye peeled for squalls/’ cautioned the 
sawyer. “The wind on these mountain lakes is 
93 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

liable to be puffy, and that cloud bank in the west looks 
as if a thunderstorm was making up.” 

The remembrance of long hours of battling with 
high seas and strong winds off Tarpaulin came to 
Jim’s mind. He smiled as he stepped the mast and 
passed the sheet aft to Budge. 

“We’ll be careful,” he responded. 

Had a similar warning been given him three hours 
later he would not have smiled. 

A gentle breeze filled the tattered sail and fanned 
the aged craft away from the beach. The boys 
busied themselves with their fishing tackle. 

“Good luck!” was Briggs’s farewell as he and 
Doggett turned back toward their cabin. 

Throppy had not joined the fishing party. Three 
were all the boat would safely hold; moreover, his 
inclinations and what he felt to be his duty drew him 
to Merrithew’s cabin. 

The hermit’s condition was improving rapidly. 
The swelling and bruises were disappearing, and he 
now experienced little pain. With Throppy’s help 
he was able to rise from his bunk and hobble across 
the floor. 

“I’ll cheat the doctor for a long time yet,” said he. 
“A man who’s lived a healthy, quiet life in the open 
recovers fast, like an animal or an Indian. You’ll 
find it so. The woods and that tonic ’ll put you on 
your feet long before the end of the summer.” 

Throppy turned away to hide the wry face he could 
not help making; the idea of the hemlock drink was 
94 


THUNDER AND LIGHTNING 

not pleasant to him. To change the subject, he told 
Merrithew about Legore’s visit. The hermit’s fea- 
tures darkened. 

“I know him, root and branch. He’s the trickiest, 
ugliest customer in the town, a regular double-twisted 
scalawag. When he starts in on anything, he intends 
to carry it through by hook or crook, and it’s gen- 
erally by crook. You boys ’ll have to look out for 
yourselves and not give him any chance to get the 
upper hand of vou. Ever play checkers?” 

“A little.” 

“There’s a board in that drawer. What do you 
say to a game?” 

They played; and Merrithew was easily the win- 
ner. 

“I’m an older hand at this than you are,” he said. 
“Let me show you a few moves!” 

Soon they were deep in the principles of the game. 

Meanwhile, Budge, Jim, and Percy had entirely 
forgotten the existence of the sawmill and the Peavey 
lot. They had three hand lines and a bamboo pole, 
from which swung a long-shanked hook baited with a 
large strip of salt pork. 

“Here you are, Jim!” said Budge, passing him the 
rod. “Break the ice! Drop your hook alongside 
those pads! There ought to be a whopper under 
’em.” 

Slowly the boat forged onward. The baited hook 
splashed near the edge of the large flat leaves. A 
rush, a flurry, a violent jerk that almost snapped the 
95 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

bamboo out of Jim’s hands. Down went the tip of 
the pole, as the line tautened and cut through the 
water toward the pads. 

“Play him, Jim!” yelled Budge. “Steer him out 
into the lake, or he’ll tangle the line up with the 
stems, and you’ll lose him!” 

Thus exhorted, Jim gave a sudden pull. All at 
once the line came slack. The fish had evidently bit- 
ten off the end of the strip of pork without taking the 
hook. A rapidly moving ridge of water showed that 
he was rushing at it again. 

“Keep cool, Jim!” exhorted Budge. “Slow up! 
You’re yanking it away from him! Give him a 
chance to take hold!” 

Jim obeyed. Again the fish struck; this time 
he was hooked fast and his captor swung him in 
toward the boat. It was far from being scientific 
angling; for the line had no reel, but was made fast 
to the tip of the bamboo, which bent in an alarming 
manner. 

“Steady, Jim, steady!” directed Budge. 

The pickerel struck the side of the skiff and was 
hauled aboard, Budge helping with both hands to 
drag him over the gunwale. 

“Isn’t he a whale?” exclaimed Percy, as their 
prize floundered in the bottom of the boat. “Two 
feet, if he’s an inch! Can’t weigh far from five 
pounds!” 

Jim looked a bit disgusted. 

“Five pounds!” he repeated. “Why, I’ve caught 
96 


THUNDER AND LIGHTNING 


thousands of cod and hake and haddock heavier than 
that! I don’t see anything about him to make a fuss 
over.” 

“That’s all right, old man,” laughed Budge. 
“Just the same, you’ll have to acknowledge you were 
a bit excited when you were pulling the bait away 
from him so fast he couldn’t keep up with it. It’s 
about the first time I ever saw you lose your head. 
I’m glad you’re human, after all.” 

For fifteen minutes they trolled along the edge of 
the pads, but no other pickerel broke water. 

“Let’s cross to the opposite shore,” proposed 
Budge. “Kimball told me there’s a good ground 
for white perch off that tall pine.” 

It was fully a mile and a half across the lake, now 
a beautiful sheet of rippling blue under the west wind. 
The hills and low mountains that hemmed it in were 
strewn with a rumpled carpet of light and dark 
green. The wall of cloud on the horizon had risen 
higher and grown blacker. The sun still lacked two 
hours of setting. 

“Storm’s coming, all right,” said Percy. 

“Yes,” returned Budge, “we’ll have to keep an 
eye on those clouds. We’ll start back in good season, 
so as not to get caught.” 

Sail and oars brought the skiff to the perch ground. 
Becalmed there in the shadow of the woods, they 
angled for a while without success. Percy at last 
grew tired. 

“Guess those white perch are off on a holiday.” 

97 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

A few rods away a considerable brook emptied into 
the lake. 

“Set me ashore, fellows ?” he requested. “I’d like 
to try the trout.” 

“Don’t be gone more than half an hour, will you, 
Perce?” said Budge. “Remember that storm. We 
don’t want to get a wetting if we can help it.” 

“I’ll be back inside thirty minutes,” rejoined 
Percy. 

Cutting a slender pole from a birch clump on the 
bank, he quickly fastened his line to it, and started 
up the stream. The others rowed back to the fishing 
ground. 

Good luck attended young Whittington from the 
start. The brook abounded in trout of all sizes. 
Before long he had eight beauties, each weighing 
between half and three-quarters of a pound. The 
rising clouds made it dark in the shadow of the woods 
and he began to think of returning to the boat. 

A little farther on he spied a large pool with over- 
hanging banks. At its head a fall plashed down. 

“One more cast,” thought Percy. “There should 
be a big fellow here.” 

There was — also another of an unexpected kind. 
The skillfully flirted hook had barely touched the 
quick water below the fall when something grabbed 
it. Out came a pound trout! 

Barely restraining a whoop of joy, Percy knelt on 
the bank to unhook his prize. As he added the trout 
to his string he became conscious of something be- 
98 


THUNDER AND LIGHTNING 


hind him; he had heard no sound, but instinct made 
him look up. For a moment he stared in frozen 
panic. 

Above him stood a huge, black animal, bigger and 
taller than a horse, with a tremendous nose and 
branching horns, a sullen, threatening apparition. 

Alone in that dusky forest, the boy could hardly be 
blamed for the surge of terror that swept over him. 
Control of his limbs came back, and with it a prompt- 
ing to seek safety in mad flight. He dropped his trout 
and rod. One leap carried him to a flat rock in mid- 
stream; a second brought him to the opposite bank. 
Taking to his heels, he ran down the brook at the top 
of his speed. 

Behind him sounded a splash, an angry snort. 
The animal was in pursuit. 

Dodging trees, leaping over boulders, slipping, 
recovering himself, Percy almost flew down the bank 
of the stream. Fear set his pulses pounding; for an 
occasional snort behind told that the big brute was 
hot on his trail. He dared not think what might re- 
sult, should he stumble. 

The lake showed through the trunks; the shore 
was near. Percy summoned all his energies for a 
final spurt. 

“Boys! Boys!” he shouted. “Row in for me! 
Quick!” 

He burst out of the undergrowth upon the narrow 
beach of pebbles. Jim and Budge, fifty feet away, 
angling listlessly, gazed at him in wonder. Percy 
99 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

did not wait. Warned by a cracking of boughs 
behind him, he flung himself into the water and 
started to swim with all his might toward the boat. 

Realizing that for some reason there was urgent 
need of getting him aboard as soon as possible, Jim 
snatched up the oars and began to row for the shore. 
Budge, glancing beyond his desperately swimming 
mate, saw the bushes parted by a long, heavy head 
with spreading antlers. 

"IPs the moose !” he exclaimed. 

Percy was now close aboard, and Budge leaned over 
and caught him by the shoulder. When he looked 
again, the leafy wall was unbroken. The head had 
disappeared. Percy, angry and excited, was dragged 
over the gunwale. 

"Wish I’d had my rifle with me,” he sputtered. 
"Close time or no close time, Fd have taught that 
brute to mind his own business. I’ve run myself out 
of a year’s growth. And then there’s that string of 
trout! Gee! But that last fellow was a regular 
sockdologer!” 

"It’s always the biggest one that we lose,” con- 
soled Budge. "Cheer up! So long as you haven’t 
brought him in, nobody can prove that you’re not 
telling the truth.” 

"Look!” said Jim. 

The wall of clouds had risen almost to the zenith, 
hiding the sun behind its ominous black barrier. 
Beyond the shelter of the trees the lake was scourged 
by sudden squalls, following one another in quick 
ioo 


THUNDER AND LIGHTNING 

succession. A growl of thunder sounded in the west. 
The storm was not far off. 

“ Better start across?” asked Jim. 

“Sure!” said Budge. “There’s nothing to gain by- 
waiting; and it won’t be long before we hit the beach. 
The sail and oars ’ll take us over flying.” 

“I’ll row,” volunteered Jim. “You handle the 
sail.” 

The farther out into the lake they got, the stronger 
grew the wind. It came in sudden capfuls, smiting 
the ragged canvas with a fury that threatened to tear 
it from the fastenings. The rumble of the thunder 
was now almost continuous, and frequent lightning 
flashes began to split the clouds. Big raindrops 
spatted upon the roughening surface. 

“We’re in for it,” remarked Budge. 

Hardly had the words escaped his lips when down 
swooped a violent gust. The boat careened until 
the gunwale almost touched the water. Crack! 
The mast snapped off close above the thwart, and at 
the same instant the rotten sail ripped into shreds 
and streamed away to leeward. 

“Clear away the wreck, Perce!” shouted Jim to 
Whittington, who was crouched in the bow. “ Pitch 
the whole thing overboard! It’s no good and we 
don’t want it dragging alongside.” 

Percy followed Jim’s directions, and presently the 
ruins of mast and sail were floating astern. They 
were now in the center of the lake, fully three-quar- 
ters of a mile from their destination. The heavens 


8 


IOI 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

were filled with angry, inky clouds, rolling and heav- 
ing tumultuously. The rain fell in a drenching down- 
pour. Now and again a bluish-white blaze of light- 
ning was followed by a stunning thunderclap. 

Even on the salt water the boys had never ex- 
perienced so furious a tempest. They were run- 
ning almost before the wind; and the high, ragged, 
foamy rollers frequently broke into the boat over her 
port quarter. Jim pulled his hardest, keeping a 
watchful eye astern. It took all his skill to prevent 
the clumsy craft from filling. He was both surprised 
and concerned at the height and violence of the seas. 

“Bail, Budge, bail ! ,? he exhorted. 

Lane was working like a steam engine, but the 
water came in faster than he could throw it out. En- 
veloped in a dark, rainy mist, they could no longer 
see the shore. Even the blinding flashes of light, 
darting from the low clouds, revealed only a small 
area of the gale-smitten lake. Percy cowered in the 
bow. This was even worse than being chased by a 
moose ! 

Though Budge bailed his hardest, the water gained 
steadily. Several inches of it swashed to and fro in 
the bottom of the skiff, weighing her down. The 
lower she settled the more came in, making her 
harder to row. Soon she wallowed so deep that she 
was in actual danger of swamping. 

Matters were looking serious. Where was the 
shore ? 

Between the thunderclaps Budge caught a low 
102 


THUNDER AND LIGHTNING 


resonant murmur straight ahead. It became louder 
and deeper. Jim and Percy heard it, too. 

“It's the wind in the pines!” cried Budge, joyfully. 

Through the mist loomed a black wall, with the 
waves dashing white at its foot. 

“There’s the beach! Good shot, Jim!” 

A moment later the skiff struck bottom. Leaping 
out, they dragged her through the surf as high as they 
could. Lane took up the pickerel. 

“Mustn’t forget our dinner to-morrow!” 

A few minutes later they were safe in camp, chang- 
ing their wet clothes before a roaring fire. 

“You don’t know how glad I am to see you, boys,” 
said Throppy. “I’ll run over and tell Ote and ’Gene 
you’re all right. We were getting pretty anxious 
about you.” 

“We’re thankful enough to be back safe and 
sound,” said Jim. “At least, I am. I never rowed 
harder but once, and that was when Perce and I were 
blown off to Cashes last summer. She’d have 
swamped in two minutes more. Who’d have dreamed 
the sea would make up so high and quick on such 
a small lake! Ote was right to warn us. I’ve 
learned something to-night; next time I’ll know bet- 
ter than to take any chances with fresh water.” 

There was a lull in the gale. Percy cocked his head 
on one side and listened. 

“I hear a hammering,” said he. “Sounds as if 
somebody was pounding iron.” 

He opened the door just as the gale struck again 
103 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

with redoubled fury. In swooped a blast, and out 
blew their kerosene lamp, leaving them in darkness. 
A shout of protest rose. 

“Shut that door, Perce !” ordered Budge. “I 
guess you were brought up in a sawmill fast enough !” 

Percy pulled the door to, while Jim found a match 
and relighted the lamp. 

“You must have been mistaken about that ham- 
mering,” he said. “My ears are as good as yours, 
and I didn’t hear anything. Guess ’twas the wind!” 

“No,” persisted Percy, stubbornly. “I’m sure I 
heard the ring of metal. Sounded as if somebody 
was striking the head of a drill with a sledge.” 

And they were unable to beat him out of his con- 
viction. 


VIII 


TROUBLE BEGINS 

OATURDAY dawned clear and beautiful. The 
^ rain ceased and the gale went down in the night 
and the blue morning sky was unflecked by a single 
cloud. The air was filled with the smell of the moist 
woods. There was no motion among the pine boughs, 
but their wet needles sparkled in the sun like myriads 
of diamonds. 

After the boys had had their customary swim they 
bailed out the boat, pulled her up on the beach, and 
turned her over to dry. 

“Badly strained, and needs calking and painting,” 
was Jim’s opinion. “She did well to bring us across 
last night. But she ought to have a thorough over- 
hauling before we trust our lives in her again.” 

Budge arranged for Brad Martin to take his place 
in the pit that forenoon. He desired to run over to 
Parcherville on his motor cycle to do several errands, 
chief among which was the securing of five hundred 
dollars at the bank to meet the weekly pay roll and 
various other bills. 

“Anything I can do in town for you fellows?” he 
asked. 

“You might mail this for me,” said Throppy. 

105 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

While cleaning the chimney of the kerosene lamp a 
little before, he had been struck by an idea; as a 
result, he had written a letter, which he now handed 
to Budge. 

“Of course I’ll be glad to mail it,” returned Budge; 
“but why don’t you drop it into the box at the end of 
the road? It’ll be just as safe there.” 

“I know that; but I’ll gain a day if it’s put into 
the office at Parcherville before noon.” 

“If you’re as particular as all that, you must have 
something important on the string.” 

“I have.” 

And not a word more would Throppy vouchsafe 
regarding his epistle. He changed the subject. 

“Where can I find some hemlock boughs?” 

“Up where Maliber and Benoit are chopping. I 
heard Joe mention seeing a tree there yesterday. 
He’ll show it to you.” 

Leaving Throppy sharpening his knife on a whet- 
stone, Budge pushed his motor cycle out from under 
the shed near the cabin. The mill was in full blast 
and everything was running like oil. He could not 
repress a feeling of satisfaction as his eye noted ap- 
provingly each detail of the process that was trans- 
forming the rough, barky trunks into first-class 
lumber. 

“Let Legore do his worst!” he thought. “We’re 
fairly under way now, and I don’t believe he can stop 
us.” 

A few minutes later he was speeding along the high- 
106 


TROUBLE BEGINS 


way toward Parcherville. About a mile from the 
mill his ear detected a rattle in his machine and he 
stopped to tighten a nut. Glancing into a pasture 
beside the road, he observed an irregular hollow a 
hundred yards distant, and he vaulted over the wall 
to investigate. The depression turned out to be an 
abandoned quarry, about two hundred feet long by 
fifty broad, and filled with water to within twenty 
feet of its top. 

“The crowd ’ll have to tramp out some night and 
look this over,” thought Budge, as he returned to his 
wheel. “’Twouldn’t make a bad swimming hole!” 

He did not stop again until he reached Parcher- 
ville. There he spent two busy hours. After draw- 
ing his money from the bank, he bargained with the 
owner of a large truck to have the seasoned boards 
hauled from the sticking ground to the railroad station 
at Edington, as soon as they were ready. The ser- 
vices of a lawyer were required to frame the contract; 
and to look out for his interests Budge employed a 
young attorney, Russell Lawton, whom the elder 
Lane had found able and trustworthy. 

It was eleven o’clock before he started back on his 
machine. Meanwhile, two events in which he would 
have been deeply interested were occurring at differ- 
ent places in Barham. 

Grannitt had been absent from town on the 
previous afternoon and evening, and, though Legore, 
after being worsted in his encounter at the Peavey lot, 
107 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

had endeavored to see his attorney on Friday, it was 
not until the next forenoon that the two met in the 
lawyer’s office. The lumberman’s anger still burned 
red against Lane and his associates, and he was, if 
anything, more determined than ever to best them 
by fair means or foul; but his temper was now under 
control and he and Grannitt were coolly discussing 
the quickest methods of ruining the boys’ enterprise 
and driving them out of town. 

“They’re an easy bunch to work for,” said Lego re. 
“Anything goes over there. I could see that the 
crowd were soldierin’ on their jobs. Lane’s money 
must feel pretty good to ’em. Sorry to break up a 
soft thing, but I’ve got to do it. We won’t mention 
any names; but somethin’ tells me part o’ that gang 
won’t be workin’ much longer on the Peavey lot.” 

He winked at Grannitt. 

“When you an’ I jine drives, we’ve ways o’ reachin’ 
men that it mightn’t be well to say too much about. 
Just between us I’ve the feelin’ that sparks are liable 
to fly in that mill this very mornin’.” 

The lawyer put up his hand in a gesture that for- 
bade further confidences. 

“That ’ll do, Ches! You know that there are some 
things it’s better for me not to be told about. But 
we both know what’s going to happen there early 
next week. I saw Marcellus Drinkwater in Parcher- 
ville yesterday, and made all the arrangements. 
Everything will be strictly legal. I think that our 
young friends are in for the surprise of their lives.” 

108 


TROUBLE BEGINS 


“They’ll have another sort o’ surprise before 
then,” said Legore, vindictively, “an’ p’r’aps two 
or three. I want to git in a few licks on my own 
account before the thing winds up. I’ve no love 
for that red-headed feller; but the black-haired one 
made talk to me that I don’t intend to take from 
any livin’ man. Leastwise, not without payin’ good 
measure back.” 

“That’s a matter between you and him,” said 
Grannitt. “I don’t mix in any personal rows.” 

They fell into quiet, confidential talk. 

Up on the Peavey lot matters had run on smoothly 
until about half past ten. Following Maliber’s direc- 
tions, Throppy had cut a generous armful of hemlock 
boughs and had taken them over to Merrithew’s 
cabin. There he steeped them over a hot fire and 
poured some of the resulting decoction into a bowl. 
When this cooled sufficiently, he gratified the hermit 
by taking as much of it as he could swallow. 

“I know it doesn’t taste very good at first,” said 
Merrithew. “But, as a favor to me, I want you to 
try it for a week or so and see if it doesn’t improve 
your appetite. I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I 
didn’t know how much it has helped others.” 

Throppy consented. 

“I guess I can stand it a few days. I suppose the 
worse it tastes the more it helps you.” 

For the first time in their acquaintance the hermit 
smiled. 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

“Be honest with yourself and let me know how 
you feel at the end of a fortnight/’ 

On his way back to his own cabin Throppy stopped 
at the mill. Briggs in his spare moments was giving 
advice to both Percy and Jim. 

“Throw in your wood when the saw isn’t in the 
cut,” he counseled Whittington. “Either when the 
carriage is being jigged back or the log is being put 
on. Keep your fire level, so as to get an even heat.” 

Throppy watched. As the saw struck the butt 
it slowed down. All the machinery followed suit, 
shaftings, belts, flywheel, and engine. The balls on 
the governor dropped, opening the valve and letting 
in more steam, which exhausted itself with a heavy 
puffing into the stack. As the cleft trunk passed 
beyond the saw and the carriage slid back, the 
puffing grew quicker and softer, until it almost 
died away. 

Jim rolled on a new log. 

“Here’s one from a tree that was felled this morn- 
ing,” he exclaimed. 

The saw started through it. Suddenly there rose 
a hideous grating and shrieking. A stream of red 
sparks flew from the cut. Briggs moved his lever 
like a flash, and the din ceased as the carriage slid 
back and came to a standstill. Stopping the saw, 
he leaned over it anxiously. 

“Half a dozen teeth gone, and the shoulders with 
’em,” he said, as he straightened up from his inspec- 
tion. “Now let’s see what did it!” 


no 


TROUBLE BEGINS 


The whole mill crew gathered round the log and 
the partly sawed slab was chopped away. 

“It’s a spike!” exclaimed Briggs. “And cut al- 
most through! No wonder it took those six teeth 
and shoulders! Looks like a new one, too. Wonder 
how long it’s been in the wood!” 

With the point of his knife blade he cut and dug 
round the head of the offending piece of iron. As he 
approached a decision his face sobered. 

“Boys,” said he at last, “this spike was driven into 
the tree not more than two or three days ago at the 
outside.” 

They glanced at one another. The same suspicion 
was in the minds of all. Doggett gave it voice. 

“Looks to me as if the man who hammered it in 
put it there on purpose to make trouble.” 

Percy struck his hands together. 

“What about that pounding I was sure I heard last 
night!” 

“You were rigPt,” confessed Jim. 

Briggs and Doggett looked at them in wonder. 
Percy explained. 

“Plain as the nose on your face,” almost shouted 
the sawyer. “ Somebody went out last night into the 
choppers’ clearing, when the wind was blowing so 
hard that he thought any other noise wouldn’t be 
heard, and drove that into a tree with the idea of 
causing all the damage he could. The question is, 
who did it?” 

Again glances were exchanged. This was a serious 
hi 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

matter. Nobody cared to venture any speculation; 
but in each mind was the same thought as to the man 
behind it all — Legore. 

“ Let’s look these other logs over,” proposed 
Briggs. “That spike may not be the only one.” 

He was right. A careful examination of the trunks 
on the stringers disclosed two more spikes, precisely 
like the first. They had been driven through the 
bark, and the traces of their entrance so carefully 
obliterated as to be almost invisible. 

“Intended to do a clean job,” said Briggs. “Well, 
he’s drawn first blood. That saw’s got to go back 
to the manufacturers to be fixed up. Lucky we’ve 
another!” 

The damaged steel disk was taken off the arbor, 
and the spare one put on. Briggs filed its teeth. No 
more boards were sawed that forenoon. 

Shortly after the whistle blew, the exhaust of 
Budge’s motor cycle was heard, and soon he shot into 
the clearing. He looked serious on learning about 
the spike. 

“I don’t think so much of the injury to the saw,” 
said he, “although it ’ll cost us considerable money. 
But there’s no doubt the thing was done in cold blood, 
and I’m afraid by one of our own men. What 
bothers me most is to feel that we’ve a traitor in 
camp.” 

He was talking with Briggs, Jim, and Percy, who 
formed a little group out of earshot of the local men. 

“Who do you s’pose did it?” asked Percy. 

1 12 


TROUBLE BEGINS 


“Can’t tell. Let’s not say anything more about 
that now. We’ll go over the whole thing when we’re 
alone to night.” 

“Better order an extra saw, hadn’t you?” said 
Briggs. 

“I’ll phone the telegraph office at Parcherville 
right after dinner, and wire the makers to express one 
to us as quick as they can get it here. This same 
thing may happen again, and we can’t afford to shut 
down the mill. The only thing to do now is to look 
over every log and make sure it hasn’t been tampered 
with. That means a lot more work for Jim, but I 
don’t see any help for it.” 

At noon there was a sense of restraint about the 
plant. Choppers and teamsters inspected the spikes 
and ate their dinners in glum silence. Rightly or 
wrongly, each man seemed to feel that the finger of 
suspicion was pointing at him. Conscious of the 
atmosphere of unpleasantness that was being created 
and realizing the hard feeling it might develop, the 
boys did their best to bring about a better state of 
affairs. 

Percy related his experience with the moose. He 
brought out his twenty-two, fastened up a paper tar- 
get on a pine, and soon had a lively shooting match 
under way. 

“If I’d only had this rifle with me last night,” said 
he, “I’d have given that moose something to remem- 
ber me by.” 

Apparently he spoke the truth, for he scored more 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

bull’s eyes than any of his rivals. By whistle-time 
the tension had eased up a bit, though the mental 
attitude of the crew could hardly have been termed 
hilarious. They dispersed rather soberly to their 
duties and Percy returned to his boiler. 

“What make this fire so dead!” he exclaimed, after 
a half hour of throwing in slabs. “It’s never been so 
low as this before.” 

“Rain to-morrow,” said Doggett. “There’s no 
draught the day before or after a storm.” 

The new saw worked well, but Percy found it hard 
that afternoon to hold the steam much above eighty 
pounds, the pressure needed to keep everything run- 
ning in good shape. 

At closing time Budge paid off his crew for their 
first week’s work. Then he received an unpleasant 
surprise. Two choppers, Huston and Bridge, the 
loader, Jensen, and his cousin, Chris Bremer, the 
yardman, notified him that they would not be back 
on Monday morning. 

“What’s the trouble, boys?” asked Budge. “Aren’t 
you getting pay enough?” 

“No fault to find that way,” replied Huston. “Just 
changed our minds about working. That’s all.” 

And that was all that Budge could get out of him 
or any of the others regarding their reasons for leav- 
ing. Their departure put him in a serious dilemma. 
It had been hard enough to get his present force 
together. Where was he to find new men? 

Before supper Percy and Throppy went up to 


TROUBLE BEGINS 


Joshua Kimball’s and brought back a pot of baked 
beans, a loaf of brown bread, and several dozen 
doughnuts. Mrs. Kimball was a first-class cook, and 
the food engaged from her, together with what they 
could prepare for themselves, assured the boys of 
good living. This was fortunate, for their appetites 
had already begun to improve. 

That night Briggs and Doggett came over to the 
boys’ cabin and the incident of the spikes was can- 
vassed from all angles. 

“Of course what we say in here doesn’t go out- 
side,” said Budge. “I’m going to talk plain. I 
don’t like that McAuliffe. He’s grouchy and un- 
pleasant, a regular chronic grumbler; and I shouldn’t 
be surprised, strictly between us, if he could shed a 
little light on those spikes, if he was so disposed.” 

“I’ve had the same feeling,” said Jim. “Some- 
thing about him goes against my grain.” 

“I don’t want to discourage you, Roger,” said 
Briggs, “but two or three of those other men may 
drop out from under you before Monday morning. 
You remember that Legore said we might not see him, 
but we’d feel him. I believe this is some of his under- 
handed work.” 

“I’m afraid you’re right, Ote,” replied Budge. 
“Still, we won’t borrow trouble till Monday morn- 
ing comes. Now this is Saturday night, and we’ve 
had a busy week. Let’s forget the unpleasantness 
that’s past and not worry about any that may be 
coming, but just have a real good time.” 

US 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

Everybody agreed. Throppy’s violin and Jim’s 
flute were pressed into service. All the boys were 
good singers, while Briggs’s tenor and Doggett’s bass 
combined to swell the chorus. The entertainment 
was varied by an occasional selection on a small 
graphophone they had brought. Percy was look- 
ing over the records. Finally he found what he 
wanted. 

“ Here’s something I’d like somebody else to hear. 
Don’t look at it, fellows, till I get back.” 

He ran over to the little camp occupied by Maliber 
and Benoit, and returned, dragging Joe’s hound by 
the scruff* of the neck. Shutting the door carefully, 
so that Jack could not retreat, he put the record on 
the machine. It was the rendering of a dog fight. 
At its close Jack was permitted to escape with his tail 
between his legs. Two rousing stanzas of “ Dixie,” 
accompanied by the graphophone, brought the eve- 
ning to a close. 

Sunday was stormy, as Briggs had foretold it would 
be. The rain came down in torrents, making the 
woods and countryside all but impassable. The 
boys spent most of the time in camp, reading and 
writing letters. 

The next day was a busy one for Budge and his 
motor cycle. Briggs again proved to be a true 
prophet, for beside the four who had already given 
notice of their intention to leave, another chopper, 
Corydon Stokes, and the general-utility man, Brad 
Martin, also failed to appear. That left the crew six 
116 


TROUBLE BEGINS 


short. Under these conditions it seemed better not 
to attempt to run the mill. Jim and Percy each 
secured a horse and buggy and started out to help 
Budge drum up a half dozen new recruits. The 
remainder of the mill force was set to work chopping, 
loading, and piling logs. 

It was almost dark when the boys returned to 
camp, but the six men had been secured. Alec 
Parsons and Dick Henderson had been hired as chop- 
pers instead of Huston and Bridge, while Fred Bever- 
age was taken on in place of Corydon Stokes. 
Rodney Graff for all-round man, Peter Simmons as 
loader, and Henry Ireson for yardman were the 
other acquisitions. 

“You’ve done well, boys,” was Briggs’s greeting, 
when he learned of their success. “Only, I wish we 
knew whether the man who drove those spikes is 
among the six who left or is still with us.” 

Tuesday the mill started again, and the forenoon 
passed without any particular incident. Milburn’s 
meat cart drove into the clearing at nine on its weekly 
call, and Budge purchased a fine pork roast, which 
he left wrapped up on the table in the cabin, to be put 
into the oven early in the afternoon. Percy pulled 
the whistle as usual at half past eleven, and he and 
Jim and Budge strolled over to camp. 

“Don’t eat too hearty this noon, fellows,” warned 
Budge. “For supper we’re going to have the juiciest, 
tenderest roast you ever tasted.” 

The cabin door was slightly ajar; Throppy had not 
117 


9 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

yet returned from Merrithew’s. The boys stepped 
inside to wash up. 

“Where’s that pork, Budge?” asked Percy. * 

“I put it on the table, but it isn’t there now. 
Throppy must have come in and stowed it away 
somewhere.” 

They hunted in every possible place, but no roast. 

“Isn’t that a grease spot on the floor?” said Jim. 

“Looks like it; and there’s some marks on the 
doorstep.” 

Following a faint trail in the needles, Jim went 
round to the rear of the cabin. 

“Come out here a minute,” he called. 

The others obeyed. Jim pointed to some cleanly 
gnawed bones. 

“Jack’s squared accounts with us for dragging 
him in to listen to that dog-fight record Saturday 
night.” 

“When I buy another roast I’ll put it into the oven 
and shut the door,” said Budge. 

That noon Tug Prince and Percy had a wrestling 
match, in which Percy came out on top. He had 
taken special interest in this branch of gymnastics 
during the first year in college, and, while the country 
lad was stronger, he did not have the skill of his care- 
fully trained antagonist. Even at that Percy found 
him no easy proposition, and had to acknowledge, 
when the bout was over, that he had met a foeman 
fully worthy of his steel. 

Rodney GraflF, the new all-round man, alert, pleas- 
118 


TROUBLE BEGINS 


ant, and obliging, a marked contrast to the sulky 
McAuliffe, had been sent out to help load the scoots. 

“I like him,” said Budge. “He doesn’t know 
much about the work, but he’s willing to learn. He 
never growls and he never shirks.” 

“I like him, too,” said Jim. “Where did you find 
him?” 

“At Holway & Benner’s. He’d heard about our 
mill, and so blew into town. He may be a tramp, 
but he’s a good one. I only hope he’ll stick.” 

The afternoon work was an hour advanced when 
Budge, at an interval in the sawing, noticed that the 
axes were no longer ringing through the pines. 

“Hulloo!” he exclaimed. “What’s up? Wonder 
why they’re resting so long!” 

A man wearing a slouch hat came sauntering out 
of one of the scoot roads. He was lank and wiry; his 
sun-browned face was slightly lantern-jawed; he had 
a quizzical eye, and a straggling mustache; and 
Budge noted with disapproval that he was chewing 
tobacco. He glanced about the mill without say- 
ing anything. Budge gave him no further atten- 
tion; he was interested to know why the chopping 
stopped. 

“Guess I’d better go out and see what the matter 
is,” said he to Doggett. “They’re not so far ahead 
of the mill that they can afford to loaf.” 

As he passed the stranger the man threw open his 
coat. 

“P’r’aps you might like to look at this.” 

119 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

It was a silver star on the lapel of his vest. Budge 
gave it a casual glance. 

“That’s real pretty,” he said. “How much did it 
cost you?” 

“Not so much as it’s liable to cost you” drawled 
the man with a grin. “Better look again!” 

Budge did, and his eyes opened. The star bore 
two words: 

“Deputy sheriff!” 


IX 


BEFORE THE JUDGE 

A S Budge stared at the glittering badge an uneasy 
sense of coming trouble changed his jesting in- 
difference to surprised attention. 

“What do you want?” he demanded. 

The grin on the stranger’s leathery face widened 
provokingly as he drew a folded paper from inside 
his coat. 

“I want to give you something you won’t want. 
You’re Roger Lane, aren’t you?” 

Budge nodded shortly. He did not like the other’s 
half-humorous, half-sneering manner. 

“Thought so,” continued the deputy. “Your 
hair’s the shade of red I was told to look for. Well, 
here’s a present for you from Judge Dilloway.” 

He pushed the paper into Roger’s hand. Jim and 
Briggs abruptly stopped talking; Percy’s cheerful 
whistle suddenly cut off; all faces were turned 
toward Budge and the stranger. Young Lane had 
unfolded the formidable-looking document, and was 
scanning its closely printed paragraphs with con- 
siderable bewilderment. 

“What’s this?” he asked at last. “I haven’t 
robbed or murdered anybody.” 

12 1 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

The deputy smote himself a smart blow on the left 
cheek and said something under his breath. 

“I’d do murder every second of the day if I had to 
live out here among these mosquitoes,” he remarked 
acidly. “No, I’m not charging you with killing 
anybody, but as to robbery, that’s an entirely dif- 
ferent matter; before we get through, it may take 
twelve good men and true of Madison County to 
decide it.” 

“What do you mean?” 

The shriek of the saw had ceased and only the dull 
humming of the machinery broke the silence that 
hung over the mill. Everybody was listening. The 
newcomer spat upon the pine needles. He straight- 
ened his lank, lathy form to its fullest height and 
threw out his chest; he found the attention that he 
was receiving decidedly agreeable. 

“This is a writ of injunction, issued by Judge 
Horace Dilloway. The records in the Madison 
County Registry of Deeds at Parcherville show that 
nineteen years ago Maria Peavey borrowed five hun- 
dred dollars from Reuben Drinkwater and mort- 
gaged this timber lot as security. There is nothing 
on the records to indicate that this loan was ever paid. 
H. Chesley Legore of Barham — p’r’aps you’ve heard 
of him — has bought up all the rights of the Drink- 
water heirs under the mortgage, and has started to 
foreclose. Meanwhile he takes out this injunction. 
It’s the voice of Judge Dilloway, saying, ‘Stop!’ 
Says the judge: ‘Leave everything here just as it is 
122 


BEFORE THE JUDGE 

until the matter is settled. Don’t strike a single clip 
with an ax, or make a scratch with a saw, or roll 
another log on the carriage, or cut an inch into that 
butt, or throw another stick into the firebox.’ 
Them’s the orders; break ’em at your peril! And 
here’s my appointment as keeper to see that they’re 
carried out.” 

He pulled another folded paper from his pocket. 

“So you see, young man,” said he to Budge, who 
stood gazing at him in stunned incredulity, “this star 
of mine amounts to something, after all. It may be 
a little thing, but it’s big enough to put your whole 
plant out of business.” 

Again he spat on the needles. The blood ebbed 
from the boy’s cheeks; the suddenness of the shock 
left him gasping for breath. 

“But — but — ” he stammered, “we can’t stop now. 
We’ve only just started. It ’d ruin our summer’s 
work.” 

“Sorry,” returned the other, laconically, yet not 
without a trace of sympathy, “but law’s law and 
orders is orders. You’ve got either to stop or go on; 
and you can’t go on, that’s sure. So I don’t see what 
else you can do but stop.” 

“How long will it be before the thing can be 
settled?” 

“Court doesn’t sit again until September; so it ’ll 
be at least ten weeks.” 

Ten weeks! Roger stood aghast. This sudden 
blow, tremendous, utterly unforeseen, had set their 
123 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

carefully planned air castle tottering from its foun- 
dations. Briggs created a diversion. 

“ Guess I might’s well take off another board,” he 
remarked, casually, pulling his lever. 

The officer sprang forward, hand upraised in pro- 
hibition, lantern jaws working with excitement. 

“Hold on there!” he shouted, angrily. “Didn’t 
you hear — ?” 

The long-drawn shriek of the saw drowned the 
remainder of his sentence. Presently the board 
dropped on the table and the sawyer jigged his car- 
riage back. The deputy, boiling over with wrath, 
started into the mill toward Briggs. 

“Better not come any further,” warned the mel- 
ancholy Doggett, reaching for a wrench. 

Recovering his self-control, the man halted, a slow 
flush stealing over his brown face. 

“I could make you smart for that, if I wanted to,” 
he snapped. “You may know logs, but you don’t 
know law. You’ll find that it’s got teeth, specially 
in Judge Dilloway’s court.” 

Briggs smiled and started to move his lever again, 
but Jim’s restraining hand fell on his shoulder. 

“That ’ll do,Ote,” he cautioned. “Once is enough.” 

“You’ve got horse sense, young fellow,” approved 
the deputy. “He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t find out 
that once is too much.” 

By this time Budge had pulled himself together. 

“We’ll obey the law,” said he, with an effort. 
“Shut her down!” 


124 


BEFORE THE JUDGE 

Percy, who had only half understood what w^as 
going on, stared at him in amazement. 

“ What’s the joke?” he began. 

“There’s no joke.” 

One look at Roger’s set face convinced the fireman. 

“Shall I bank the fire or let it out?” he asked. 

“Might as well let it out,” volunteered the deputy. 
“Chances are it won’t be needed again this summer.” 

Percy considered. 

“Guess I’ll bank her.” 

“Suit yourself,” returned the other, indifferently. 

The hum and rattle of the machinery ceased; with 
a final whirl the great saw went dead. Jim trigged 
his last log, and the board that Doggett had marked 
before laying down his chalk slid over the rolls into 
the pit. While the boiler was blowing off, Percy 
banked his fire with unusual care. 

“I’ve a hunch these plates won’t get cold before 
she steams up again,” he muttered to himself. 

Over the clearing brooded a stillness, strangely in 
contrast with the noise and activity of a half hour 
before. The men gathered in knots round the mill, 
talking seriously. McAuliffe’s dark face wore an ill- 
concealed grin; Graff, the new man, was indignant, 
and did not hesitate to say so; he and McAuliffe 
were soon at loggerheads. Their heated argument 
reached Budge’s ears. 

“Listen to that,” he said. “McAuliffe’s growing 
grouchier and uglier every day. He seems to be 
actually glad we’ve got to shut down. I believe he’s 

125 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

a spy and worse for Legore. If we start again, IVe 
decided not to take much more of his lip.” 

“I’d fire him so quick it ’d make his hair stand on 
end,” remarked Percy. 

Withdrawing to their cabin with Ote and ’Gene, the 
boys held a council. Budge was rallying from the 
staggering blow dealt by the injunction. There was 
a lump in his throat and a suspicion of tears in his 
eyes, but they were tears of anger, not of weakness. 
Jim’s jaw was set a trifle more sternly than usual. 

“ We’re going to fight it out, aren’t we, Budge?” he 
inquired. 

“ Fight? Of course we’ll fight! ’Twon’t be long 
before those flywheels ’ll be turning again. I believe 
this whole thing’s j ust a bluff of Legore’s ; he’s worked 
it up with that fishy-eyed Grannitt. If Maria Pea- 
vey ever borrowed any money on a mortgage, I’m 
sure she paid it back. Come on, Jim! Let’s go up 
to Joshua Kimball’s! I want to phone my father. 
He’ll have to crank up the old Ford and run over to 
get us out of this scrape.” 

As the two boys left the clearing, they passed the 
deputy, sitting on a stump, chewing industriously, 
and killing mosquitoes. He regarded them with a 
look, half humorous, half sympathetic. 

“ Sorry I had to throw a wrench into your gears, 
boys,” said he, “but I couldn’t help it. By the way, 
I’ve left my visiting cards at home on the piano; but 
my name’s Cal Buncy.” 

“We understand, Mr. Buncy,” replied Budge. 

126 


BEFORE THE JUDGE 

“This writ had to be served. If you hadn’t come, it 
might have been somebody a good deal worse.” 

“Thanks,” said the officer. “Where do I bunk 
and eat? Out with the horses?” 

Budge laughed. 

“We’ll fix you up a bed in one of the cabins. 
You’ll eat with us.” 

“That’s mighty white of you, boys,” returned 
Buncy, gratefully. “ So long as I’m keeper, you 
won’t have a mite of unnecessary trouble.” 

Up at Kimball’s Roger soon had his father on the 
long-distance telephone. A few hasty words ex- 
plained their dilemma. After a short series of bullet- 
like queries and directions, Lane, senior, cut off. 

“Father always laughs like that when he gets his 
mad up,” said Budge. “He’ll hit the high places on 
his way over to-morrow. Told me to get in touch 
with Russell Lawton right away. Legore ’ll have all 
the fight he wants.” 

After Budge had telephoned the young lawyer, and 
made an appointment with him at Parcherville for the 
next forenoon, the boys went back to camp. 

“Still, isn’t it?” said Jim, as they entered the 
clearing. “I’d never have believed it’d make me feel 
lonesome not to hear that old saw chewing through 
the logs.” 

The remainder of the afternoon dragged. Budge 
was not inclined to say much until he had talked 
with his father; and the other boys were hardly 
more communicative. Shortly before supper, Mer- 
127 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

rithew came over to learn the cause of the unaccus- 
tomed stillness. He shook his head on hearing about 
the injunction. 

“Grannitt and Legore — yes, yes! A bad pair, 
boys, a bad pair! When you came down here you 
thought all you’d bargained for was a mill and so 
much stumpage, but let me tell you that you’ve 
bought trouble with two of the smoothest, trickiest 
scamps that ever disgraced a township. Each one’s 
the most dishonest man in the county except the 
other; and what deviltry one can’t think up the other 
can. They’ll do anything for money. They’ve 
tried every way to cheat me out of my lot; but so 
long as I’m alive they’ll never get it. Keep your 
eyes peeled!” 

Supper was a silent meal, though Buncy did his best 
to enliven it with his dry wit. Even Percy was in 
the dumps. That evening there was no singing or 
music, and all went to bed early. 

Shortly after eight the next morning an auto came 
chugging in through the wood road. 

“ Here’s your father, Budge!” shouted Percy. 

Lane, senior’s, face wore a worried look as he 
glanced over the silent mill; but his voice belonged 
to a man who felt sure of his ground and intended to 
hold it at any cost. 

“ What time did you start?” asked his son. 

“A little before three.” 

“ Pretty early!” 

“None too much so for this business.” 

128 


BEFORE THE JUDGE 

After a brief consultation the two Lanes started 
for Parcherville in the Ford to interview Lawton. It 
was past noon when they returned, bringing the 
attorney with them. He looked the ground over, 
exchanged a few words with Buncy, and then drove 
away with Lane, senior. 

“That young fellow’s got good stuff in him,” com- 
mented the sheriff, as the car disappeared. “When 
he puts on a few more years he’ll make some of the 
older lawyers take his dust.” 

“Where are they going, Budge?” asked Jim. 

“Over to the old Peavey house to see if they can’t 
find a discharge of that mortgage among Cousin 
Maria’s papers. Father feels sure she must have 
paid up the loan, but neglected to have the discharge 
recorded. If they can only dig up some evidence of 
a settlement, Legore won’t have a leg to stand on. 
The crook!” 

They waited supper until seven, but there was no 
sign of the Ford. 

“Might as well eat,” decided Budge. “We’ll put 
father’s share into the oven to keep it warm for him. 
When he’s on a trail he forgets everything else. He’s 
like a hound after a fox.” 

It was half past eight before the Ford rolled into 
the clearing. Mr. Lane’s face was sober. 

“Haven’t struck a thing yet. We called at Gran- 
nitt’s office and arranged for a hearing in Judge 
Dilloway’s chambers to-morrow afternoon. Then I 
took Lawton home. We went through the Peavey 
129 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

house from top to bottom, but we couldn’t find hide 
nor hair of that discharge. I’m certain the money 
was paid back, but it’s up to us to prove it. Cousin 
Maria’s mind failed toward the last, and she may 
have burned some of her papers, or she may have sent 
the discharge in to the registry by somebody who 
lost it or forgot to leave it for entry. Pretty blind 
work tracing anything that happened so long ago! 
Still, we won’t give up hope yet. There’s too much 
at stake.” 

The next morning Mr. Lane and the four boys 
started early for another search of the Peavey house. 
Buncy had made his peace with Briggs and Doggett 
and the three were smoking amicably together. 

“Hope you’ll find what you’re looking for,” wished 
the deputy. “Just between ourselves and the saw- 
mill I don’t waste much time loving either Ches 
Legore or Milo Grannitt. But of course business ’s 
business, and I have to serve what’s put into my 
hands.” 

Five pairs of keen eyes, snarpened by the dread of 
a ruined summer, scrutinized every cubic inch of the 
Peavey homestead from garret to cellar, but all in 
vain. Cousin Maria had been of a saving disposition; 
the local tradition ran that in all her life she had 
never thrown anything away, and the experience of 
the searchers seemed to bear this statement out. Six 
generations of Peaveys had contributed to the mis- 
cellaneous assortment that passed, article by article, 
under the hands and eyes of the earnest millmen. 
130 


BEFORE THE JUDGE 

Noon came. The house had been raked with a 
fine-tooth comb. But still no discharge! There was 
a frown on Mr. Lane’s brow, but his fighting spirit 
was in no wise weakened. 

“We won’t put up our hands yet,” said he. “I’ll 
never knuckle under to Legore until I’m in the last 
ditch.” 

On their way back to the mill they stopped at 
Joshua Kimball’s to telephone the news of their 
unsuccessful search to Lawton. 

“Sorry you couldn’t find that discharge,” remarked 
the attorney; “but we’ll have to make the best fight 
we can without it. I’m working on something here; 
but I owe it to you to say that the chances are at 
least a hundred to one against its amounting to any- 
thing. Still, I believe in pulling every string.” 

After dinner the boys and Mr. Lane rode to 
Parcherville, to attend the hearing before Judge 
Dilloway. At three o’clock they met in his chambers 
at the courthouse. Russell Lawton was there to act 
for them, while Milo Grannitt, smooth and cold- 
blooded, represented Legore, who did not appear. 
The judge, though something of a stickler for legal 
forms, had the reputation of being perfectly fair, and 
the boys felt sure that their case would be decided on 
its merits. 

The hearing began promptly. Lawton asked that 
the injunction be withdrawn. 

“This mortgage is almost twenty years old, and 
has undoubtedly been satisfied. The Drinkwater 

13 1 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

heirs have never claimed any interest on it; indeed, 
they were not aware of its existence until somebody 
called it to their attention. Technically, it of course 
constitutes a cloud on the title; but it is a cloud that 
may be removed at any time by the discovery of the 
discharge. These young men have entered upon 
their lumbering operations in good faith, supposing 
that they were absolutely within their rights. To 
restrain them from operating until the case can be 
tried in court will mean the ruin of their summer’s 
work. They are perfectly willing to give a bond for 
any reasonable sum. In their behalf I ask that the 
injunction be vacated.” 

Judge Dilloway looked toward Grannitt. The 
Barham attorney rose, his face expressionless as a 
mask. 

“Your Honor, my young brother has presented his 
clients’ case with his usual ability, but his sympathies 
have evidently blinded him to certain important 
facts. The record shows that Reuben Drinkwater 
loaned Maria Peavey five hundred dollars; and there 
is nothing to prove that she ever paid it back. Hence 
in the eye of the law that mortgage still holds good. 
My client, Mr. H. Chesley Legore, has given value 
for it to the Drinkwater heirs; therefore whatever 
interest they may have had in the property has passed 
to him. He desires to stand strictly upon his legal 
rights; and he wishes those rights to be determined 
at the next term of court. Meanwhile, he cannot be 
blamed for desiring that no further waste be com- 

13 2 


BEFORE THE JUDGE 

mitted upon the property. We do not care to accept 
any bond. However much we may sympathize with 
the energy and enterprise that has led these young 
men to embark in an untried field, we must see to it 
that they do not infringe upon the rights of lifelong 
residents of our own county. Before imperilling 
their resources, they should have satisfied themselves 
that the Peavey heirs had an unimpeachable title to 
that timber lot. Having failed to exercise due pru- 
dence, they must suffer the consequences. I ask that 
the injunction be allowed to stand/’ 

The judge, after stating the law applicable to the 
case, rendered his decision. 

“While I feel very sorry indeed for the young 
men, I do not see my way clear to vacating the 
injunction.” 

Lawton’s face fell; Mr. Lane and the boys were 
bitterly disappointed. There came a tap at the 
door: it was the young attorney’s stenographer. 
He stepped out eagerly and they exchanged a few 
hurried sentences. On his return his countenance 
showed new hope. 

“Your Honor,” he requested, “I ask the privilege 
of an adjournment for fifteen minutes.” 

Grannitt, suspicious, objected strongly. 

“You have rendered your decision, Judge. The 
matter is settled.” 

Dilloway showed that he did not like the attorney’s 
attitude. 

“Your request is granted, Mr. Lawton,” he said. 
i33 


10 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

“ You’d better wait here,” suggested the young 
lawyer to his clients. 

They sat in suspense, hardly daring to hope. The 
judge had rendered his decision; what could change 
it? Grannitt drummed with his fingers on his chair 
arm; his cynical face wore a contemptuous smile. 

Before the stated time was up Lawton came back 
with two of the large black record-books. These he 
laid before Judge Dilloway, opening first one, and 
then the other. 

“Here is the mortgage in Book Two Hundred and 
Eighty-seven — and here on page one hundred and 
fifteen in Book Two Hundred and Eighty-nine is 
the discharge!” 

An exploding bomb could hardly have created a 
greater excitement in the courtroom. The boys 
started up, almost unable to believe their ears; Percy 
with difficulty restrained a shout of exultation. 
Grannitt, shocked out of his sneering complacency, 
but still incredulous, sprang to his feet and hurried 
forward. For two or three minutes he and the judge 
bent intently over the records. 

“Everything seems to be in order,” said Dilloway 
at last. “The only thing to do is to vacate the in- 
junction and withdraw the keeper.” 

He glanced inquiringly toward Grannitt. The 
crestfallen attorney, a black scowl on his face, 
acknowledged his defeat. 

“I see no other course, Your Honor. But I am 
sure that this discharge is not on the index.” 
i34 


BEFORE THE JUDGE 

“That is true,” confirmed Lawton. “Occasion- 
ally, however, the records reveal a mistake or an 
omission. I felt morally certain that the mortgage 
had been satisfied. It occurred to me that the dis- 
charge might be on the books, but that the person 
who did the indexing might have skipped that par- 
ticular page. Such things have happened. I in- 
structed my stenographer to go carefully over the 
records subsequent to the maturity of the mortgage. 
This afternoon she discovered the discharge.” 

It was a jubilant crowd of millmen that followed 
Lav/ton to his office. 

“Lucky for us you didn’t give up beat when you 
couldn’t find anything on the index,” observed Mr. 
Lane. 

“I said that the chances were over a hundred to 
one against us,” remarked the attorney. “I’d better 
have said five hundred or a thousand to one. But 
we took the one, and the mill runs.” 

“Just to show how good I feel,” said Percy, “I’m 
going to tie down the safety valve to-morrow morning 
and try if I can burst the old boiler.” 

He reconsidered, however, and before leaving 
Parcherville purchased the most brilliant red sweater 
he could find. 

“Got to celebrate somehow.” 

He bought also a piece of heavy pasteboard, three 
feet square. 

“Never mind now what I want this for. I’ve a 
use for it.” 


i35 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

As they started back for Barham they passed 
Grannitt standing on a corner. Apparently the at- 
torney did not see them; his look was cold and hard. 

“You’re not done with him yet,” observed Mr. 
Lane. “No man with an eye like that lets go easily. 
He and Legore ’ll make you all the trouble thay can. 
It ’ll be brains against brains — Grannitt’s against 
Lawton’s. I’m backing Lawton.” 

The Ford ate up the road to Barham. On learning 
that work was to start again the next morning, Briggs 
and Doggett were in high spirits, and even Buncy 
joined in the general rejoicing. 

“Knocks me out of a job; but I’m mighty glad for 
you all. Besides, the mosquitoes out here are too 
’tarnal thick.” 

Holway & Benner’s team brought in two large 
wooden boxes that had come by freight to Edginton 
for Throppy. 

“They’re what I wrote home for,” he answered in 
response to their queries. “Don’t ask me any more 
about them now, boys.” 

So, though they were curious, they pressed him no 
further. 

In Grannitt’s smoky den that night Hard Cash and 
his attorney held a conference. The lumberman 
came at the lawyer with a club. 

“Ain’t losin’ your mind, be ye, Milo? If I was 
you I’d be ashamed to let such a young sprout as 
Lawton put it over me like that.” 

136 


BEFORE THE JUDGE 

“Some people don’t have any mind to lose,” 
countered the defeated justice. “Now let’s stop say- 
ing pleasant things to each other and get down to 
business. Lawton jumped my king that time; but 
you can put it down in your memorandum book that 
this particular game of checkers is a long way yet 
from being finished.” 


X 


PERCY WINS A PRIZE 

JX/ HANG-whang-whang-whang-whang ! 

** Five whiplike reports, closely following one 
another, shattered the Sabbathlike stillness of the 
early June morning. Before the echoes of the fusi- 
lade had died away Budge was standing in the mid- 
dle of the cabin, wide awake. His father had started 
up from Throppy’s bunk, which he had occupied, 
while its owner spent the night with Merrithew. 
Jim, more deliberate, had half risen on his elbow. 

Whang-whang-whang-whang-whang ! 

Budge sprang to the door and wrenched it open. 
At the same moment Briggs, Doggett, and Buncy 
appeared at the entrance of their camp. 

In the center of the clearing stood Percy, smoking 
twenty-two at his shoulder. Fastened up against a 
pine was the pasteboard he had purchased the day 
before, and on it, large as life, was a moose-head, done 
in charcoal. Glancing about, he became conscious 
of his audience. He threw out his chest. 

“ Drilled him through the jugular three times out of 
five at a hundred feet!” he exulted. “Some shooting 
— what?” 


138 


PERCY WINS A PRIZE 


“Who drew that picture ?” asked Budge. 

Percy made a sweeping bow. 

“ I did,” he acknowledged, proudly. “Work of art, 
isn’t it? Eve got Rosa Bonheur and Frederic Rem- 
ington beaten to a frazzle. Makes me almost sorry 
to shoot it to pieces, it’s so good. But I’ll have to 
get practiced up before I go after the real thing.” 

Buncy pricked up his ears. 

“What real thing’s that you’re goin’ after?” he 
drawled. 

“Why, the moose that chased me the other day! 
Didn’t the boys tell you about him? He and I don’t 
play in the same back yard any more. When we 
meet again, it’s good-by moose!” 

The deputy’s eyes opened wide. 

“Say, boy, even if you don’t care anything about 
the statutes of your mother-in-law state, have mercy 
on your bank account an’ don’t try to shoot a moose, 
particularly in close time. Take something less ex- 
pensive — Josh Kimball’s cow or horse, for instance.” 

“Josh Kimball’s cow or horse hasn’t razzooed me, 
as that fellow’s done. He’s shattered my nervous 
system and made me lose the biggest trout I ever 
caught, besides destroying my reputation for truth 
and veracity among my friends. Who steals my 
purse steals trash (and that’s no dream), but he that 
robs me of my good name, etc., etc. That’s some- 
thing I don’t take from any moose, living or dead. 
There’s a blood feud, a vendetta, between us. His 
head would look good over my fireplace at Warburton 
i39 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

this fall. Im going to have his hide made into moc- 
casins to present to my friends.” 

“He may have something to say about that. Well, 
hunt him, if you want to. I know it’s done; but I 
shouldn’t care to be the man caught doin’ it. Your 
pocketbook must shout, where mine whispers. But 
say, boy! If you go after him at all, an’ want to feed 
that boiler any more, get some twenty-two longs for 
that popgun. Those short ones ’ll only ginger him 
up; they’ll just tickle the skin of his neck, without 
goin’ through it. But that’s grantin’ you hit him at 
all, which is some question. Believe me, there’s 
all the difference in creation between shootin’ at a 
pasteboard nailed to a tree an’ tryin’ to draw a bead 
on Old Ugly, with your hand shakin’ as if somebody 
was twitchin’ a string tied to your elbow, an’ him 
cornin’ at ye like a steam engine an’ hatin’ himself so 
you can hear him a mile off. I know. I’ve been 
there up in the real woods years ago; an’ between us 
’twasn’t in open time, either. Yes, siree! If you’re 
fussy about your style of casket, better choose it 
before you go after him. Them horns an’ hoofs were 
made for use, not ornament. He’s long on memory 
an’ temper, an’ short on brotherly love. He never 
forgets an’ he never forgives. He’ll chase ye from 
now till Gabriel blows his trumpet, an’ from here to 
the Golden Stairs. My advice to ye is, Stay out 
while the stayin’s good. Another thing — if a miracle 
happens an’ you get him, I’ll have to get you. I’m 
game warden as well as deputy sheriff!” 

140 


PERCY WINS A PRIZE 


The John P. in Percy came uppermost. 

“I hear you and I’m much obliged,” he returned, 
stubbornly. “But no contraption of marrowbones 
wrapped in a bristly hide, with a nose like a hippopota- 
mus and the grace and beauty of a stump fence, can 
do to me what he did and get away with it. Thanks 
for the hint on the twenty-two longs!” 

“Well,” said Buncy, “if you get into trouble, don’t 
say I didn’t warn ye.” 

And there the matter rested. 

Percy put his riddled target carefully away and 
began firing up. 

“You see that my hunch about this boiler’s not 
getting cold was right,” said he to the deputy. 

“Yes, and I’m glad of it,” responded the latter, 
heartily. “I like you boys and I want to see you do 
well.” 

Breakfast was soon over, and the mill crew gladly 
went to their posts. Percy woke the echoes with a 
long, shrill, triumphant whistle. 

“Hope Grannitt and Legore can hear that,” he 
wished. “I’m giving ’em a little extra steam.” 

The machinery began to rumble and Briggs 
started in again on the log he had stopped sawing at 
Buncy’s command three days before. Mr. Lane 
waited a half hour to make sure that everything was 
working well, then cranked his Ford and set out for 
New Hampshire. The deputy, who lived in Parch- 
erville, was to go with him as far as Holway & Ben- 
ner’s where he could take the stage for home. 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

“Drop in on us any time/’ invited Budge. “We’ll 
try to see that you don’t starve.” 

“Maybe I’ll call,” returned the officer, “but not 
on business, I hope. Watch out for squalls from 
Barham Four Corners.” 

He cast a serious glance toward Percy. 

“One last word to you, boy! Forgit that moose!” 

The fireman was honest. 

“I can’t,” he answered. “What’s more, I don’t 
want to. But I’m much obliged to you.” 

Buncy shook his head, as the car shot out of the 
clearing. 

Matters quickly fell into their customary routine. 
All the crew were back, including even the grouchy 
McAuliffe, if possible more disagreeable than ever, a 
marked contrast to the cheerful, obliging Graff. 

“McAuliffe’s a regular nightmare, isn’t he?” 
remarked Budge. “He can get through here any 
time he wants to. If I could be sure of filling his 
place, I’d let him go now. I’ve stood about all I 
intend to from him.” 

At the close of the afternoon the boys went for a 
swim in the abandoned quarry Budge had discovered. 
By plumbing it with a stone tied on a fishline they 
found that the water was over fifty feet deep. The 
sheer wall gave them a fine opportunity to practice 
high diving. 

After supper Jim made plans for the new skiff that 
was to take the place of Kimball’s old punt. 

“Shipbuilding on a fresh-water pond fifty miles 
142 


PERCY WINS A PRIZE 


from the coast!” he jeered. “ Wouldn’t it amuse 
Uncle Tom!” 

Meanwhile they patched up the derelict and went 
out for an occasional string of perch and pickerel. 
One night they rowed across to the trout brook, down 
which the moose had chased Percy. Repeated 
rumors of the animal’s presence in the Barham woods 
influenced young Whittington to take his rifle, which 
was now supplied with the twenty-two longs. 

‘Til be ready for him this time,” he vowed, grimly. 

But no moose appeared. They did, however, 
catch a string of sizable trout, which Percy viewed 
with contempt mingled with melancholy. 

“No two of these together ’ll weigh so much as the 
beauty I lost,” he mourned. 

It was dark when they rowed back. A shimmering 
mist, touched with silver by the full moon, overhung 
the breezeless lake. From the black shallows along 
the tree-fringed shores the frogs were singing. Budge 
started a college air, and the others joined in, their 
voices echoing tunefully across the still water. 

Dreamless nights succeeded busy days. Higher 
and higher rose the sawdust heap at the mill end, and 
each week saw a substantial addition to the number 
of board-piles on the sticking-ground. The work 
went on swimmingly; despite past interruptions the 
boys were well up to their schedule. 

Merrithew was now able to limp about with the 
aid of a cane. He took a hand in the cooking, and 
frequently surprised Throppy with some appetizing 
i43 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

dish. The boy was fast becoming able to play check- 
ers almost as well as his instructor. 

“’Twon’t do for me to get on my feet too soon,” 
said the hermit. “For then I’ll have to lose you. 
I’ve lived here for years without ever being really 
lonesome; but I’m afraid I’ll hardly know what to 
do with myself when you and your friends are 
gone.” 

“That won’t be for a long time yet,” returned 
Throppy. 

The lad’s health was noticeably better. He had 
more color, his step was lighter and quicker, and 
occasionally, as of old, he broke into a whistle or a 
snatch of song. Whether or not because of the tonic, 
which he still took dutifully to please Merrithew, his 
appetite had increased till it bade fair to match those 
of the other boys. Also, he was beginning to fret at 
doing nothing. 

“Let me get into the harness, Budge,” he peti- 
tioned. “I feel like a beggar, loafing about here and 
living on the rest of you.” 

“Don’t you be in too much of a hurry,” replied 
Budge. “We’re getting on all right. You’ll soon 
have enough to do.” 

That night a comb of honey appeared on the boys’ 
supper table. 

“Where did this come from?” asked Jim, in sur- 
prise. 

“Mr. Merrithew’s bees,” answered Throppy. 
“Didn’t you know he has a half dozen hives in that 
144 


PERCY WINS A PRIZE 


open hollow back of his camp? He and I took out 
a few combs to-day.” 

He displayed his red and swollen wrists. 

“Had a veil over my face, but my gloves were too 
short.” 

On July i st Budge, returning from his weekly trip 
to the county-seat, brought back a paper, which he 
unfolded and nailed upon a pine. It was a poster, 
printed in red and black, advertising a celebration for 
the Fourth on the Parcherville fair grounds. One of 
the items caught Percy’s eye. 

“Side-splitting contest at 9 a.m.,” he read. “Prize 
of ten dollars for climbing to the top of a greased 
pole, thirty feet tall. That sounds like easy money. 
Guess I’ll go in and cop it.” 

“Yes, you will,” scoffed Budge. “Wait till you 
see the stick — smooth as glass, slippery as an oiled 
bearing! I know; I’ve tried to climb one just like it. 
The contestants ’ll get the exercise; the crowd ’ll have 
the fun; and the town ’ll save its money.” 

Percy rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. 

“That’s my ten! I can feel it.” 

Budge laughed. 

“After you’ve burnt your fingers sliding down 
that spruce a few times, your sense of feeling won’t be 
so keen. At any rate, we’ll all go.” 

“Better count me out,” said Throppy. “Mr. 
Merrithew and I have planned something that ’ll keep 
us busy. We’ll enjoy ourselves here as much as you 
will at the fair grounds.” 

i45 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

The others tried to persuade him to accompany 
them, but he persevered in his decision. 

The Fourth dawned without a cloud. At eight 
Budge started for Parcherville on his motor cycle. 
Percy and Jim walked out to the county road, and 
were picked up by Ezra Barker’s Ford, in which they 
had engaged two seats. Percy, attired in his best, 
including the new red sweater, carried a bundle con- 
taining his oldest clothes, in anticipation of entering 
the greased-pole contest. 

Halfway to their destination the car balked, and 
it took more than an hour to persuade it to start again. 
Percy, a good mechanic and an expert on gas engines, 
stripped off his sweater, donned his old suit, and 
crawled under the auto. Jim, unable to render any 
assistance, and having some errands to do in town, 
was glad to accept an invitation to go in another 
car. Percy reached the fairgrounds almost an hour 
late. 

“No greased pole for me,” he thought, ruefully. 
“Somebody else has got my ten.” 

Inside the high board fence surrounding the 
grounds rose a confused shouting. Percy hurried 
eagerly toward the open gate. The noise grew louder. 

On a sudden the hubbub sank to a dead silence. 
Then the boy’s ears caught startled cries and a rush- 
ing of feet. By the time he reached the entrance 
and could look across the space within the race 
track, he saw only the backs of a tumultuous crowd 
disappearing hurriedly through the opposite gate. 

146 


PERCY WINS A PRIZE 


What could be the matter? 

Percy stepped inside, his eyes on the retreating 
throng. To the left, not far from the gate, the inclos- 
ure was bounded by a hillside pasture separated from 
the fairgrounds by a three-wire fence. In this fence 
he noted a break, from which led fresh hoofprints. 
These, however, impressed him but little. He was 
wondering what attraction beyond the grounds had 
caused the crowd to make so hurried an exit. 

Advancing briskly, he had traversed almost two- 
thirds of the distance to the opposite fence. Sudden- 
ly, from behind a lemonade booth burst a dun-colored 
animal, the wreck of a red parasol impaled on his 
short sharp horns. Straight toward Percy he dashed, 
spurning the dust with speedy hoofs, and bellowing 
like distant thunder. 

By the time the startled lad had turned to run, the 
bull was barely ten yards off! 

Where should Percy find refuge? The flimsy 
booths afforded no hope. Before he could gain 
either of the entrances his pursuer would overtake 
him. Consternation cut his breath short; he could 
not run many yards further. 

Pie looked about despairingly; a little to one side 
stood a pole. What it was and why it was there, 
Percy neither knew nor cared. Hope had extended a 
single straw; he grasped at it thankfully. 

Close on his heels pressed the enemy. He leaped 
aside and made for the stick, dropping his bundle. 
As the bull stopped a moment to gore it, the young 
147 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

millman flung his arms about the pole and attempted 
to clamber up. But the instant his entire weight 
bore upon the wood, down he slid; it was the greased 
spruce! 

It would have been no fool’s task to swarm up the 
slim, knotless stick, even had its peeled surface not 
been smeared with the slippery lubricant. Could he 
not reach the gate while the bull was goring the 
bundle ? He was pulling himself together for a sprint 
when the animal raised his head. If the chance had 
ever existed, it was gone now. The pole was his only 
hope. 

Percy could almost feel his foe’s horns penetrating 
his back as he gave one mighty, desperate leap. 
Fortunately he struck a place on the stick where the 
grease had been scraped off by the climbers. His 
grip held and he began to wriggle upward; safety 
would not be assured until he could pass his hands 
through the short loop of rope fastened to the top. 

Rage made the bull blind. He dashed by below, 
one of his horns just grazing the pole, then swung 
about, baffled. What had become of the red sweater 
he had been chasing? Presently his bloodshot eyes 
discerned Percy, almost twenty feet in the air, climb- 
ing frantically. 

With an enraged bellow the brute plunged once 
more at the spruce that was cheating him of his prey. 
This time his head struck the mark with a fearful 
bump. 

The pole rocked. Percy’s face was dashed against 
148 



THIS 


TIME HIS HEAD STRUCK THE 


MARK WITH A FEARFUL BUMP 







































■ 




















‘ . V 







A 

* 
























































V. 

• 




























\x 






































■V 












































PERCY WINS A PRIZE 

the wood; his cap jarred off and dropped in the dust. 
His hold loosened. Down he slipped, his fingers and 
palms scorched by their convulsive clutch. A few 
feet more and he would be at the mercy of the 
infuriated beast. 

But just here the closely knit material of his sweater 
served him well. As he slid down that part of the 
pole which had been rubbed almost dry by previous 
climbers, by hugging the spruce tightly he managed 
first to delay his course, and then to stop it altogether 
about eight feet from the ground. His cap, too, had 
created a diversion in his favor by attracting the 
bull’s attention; and as he struggled to regain his 
former place he was ruefully conscious of the ruin 
that horns and hoofs were working in his new two- 
dollar headpiece. 

Hard as it had been for Percy to climb the lower 
part of the pole, he found the higher portion much 
harder; for the grease there was almost untouched. 
Still he struggled upward. Handhold after hand- 
hold he won and kept painfully, until only a few 
inches remained. 

Hoofs drummed below; the bull was charging 
again. Percy knew that the slightest shock would 
hurl him down. The parasol-decked forehead was 
less than a yard from the base of the stick when the 
boy gave a last convulsive writhe upward, flinging 
his right hand as high as he could. His fingers 
passed through the loop of rope just as the impact 
of the bull’s skull set the spruce tottering, 
ll i49 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

For an instant young Whittington dangled by one 
hand. Then his other also caught the becket and he 
hung limply, uncomfortable, but temporarily safe. 

And now a new danger threatened. Loosened by 
the day’s climbing and the brute’s charge, the pole 
no longer stood upright. Already Percy’s body 
swung from it at something of an angle; hardly had 
he noted this when another assault by the animal 
bent it still farther. One more shock would bring it 
down. 

But succor was at hand. Through the gate 
hurried a crowd with ropes and pitchforks. The 
bull, engrossed in his attack, paid no attention to the 
newcomers. Again he butted the spruce; its base 
moved in the ground and little by little its top sank. 
Then down it came with a rush. 

Percy struck on his feet several yards from the 
beast, and began to run. His pursuer, thudding 
along, head down, shot suddenly in between two 
lines of men, and a rope, skillfully cast, brought him 
to a standstill. 

Seeing his foe in the toils, Percy gladly came to a 
halt. Breathless and perspiring, he was in a sorry 
plight. His straw-colored hair was plastered damply 
down on his flushed brow. His hands smarted. His 
legs were wabbly. Dark grease stains disfigured his 
trim trousers and gay red sweater. He offered a 
striking contrast to the cool, well-dressed lad who 
had entered the grounds less than ten minutes before. 

While the bull, red-eyed and breathing hard, was 

150 


PERCY WINS A PRIZE 

led off, snorting his indignation, Percy picked up his 
cap and bundle. The carefully wrapped working 
suit had been ripped to tatters by the animal’s horns 
and hoofs; and the jaunty cap, ground into dusty 
shapelessness, was hardly worth reclaiming. 

A practical joker himself, Percy was extremely 
particular about his personal appearance and keenly 
sensitive to ridicule. As he faced the grinning crowd 
of men and boys, he would have liked to sink into 
the earth. Their jests and snickers hurt his pride. 
He felt like skulking away and hiding; but where? 

To his great relief he saw Budge and Jim coming 
across the grounds to learn the cause of the excite- 
ment. Percy hurried to meet them. They stared 
at him in surprise. 

“What’s happened to you?” demanded Budge. 

“Nothing much. I’ve met the enemy and I’ve 
come mighty close to being his. I’ll tell you about it 
later. Get me away from here.” 

As they started for the gate a stout man with a 
gold-lettered blue ribbon in his lapel detached him- 
self from the crowd and followed them. 

“Hold on a minute!” he hailed. “Here’s some- 
thing for you.” 

He passed a sealed envelope to Percy. 

“What’s this?” asked young Whittington, wonder- 
ingly. “A Black-Hand letter?” 

Tearing it open, he pulled out a folded ten-dollar 

bill. 

“I’m chairman of the celebration committee,” 

151 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

explained the stranger. “You’re the only fellow 
who’s climbed the greased pole; and this is the prize. 
Guess you’ve earned it.” 

His eye dwelt reflectively on Percy. 

“You’ve said something,” agreed the victim. 
“Guess I have.” 

He put the bill into his pocket and left the grounds 
with his friends. In a few minutes they reached the 
garage where Budge had put his motor cycle. There 
a liberal application of soap, hot water, and gasoline 
made Percy as presentable as circumstances would 
allow. As the grease disappeared from his clothing 
his spirits came back. 

“Never could have won it in the world if it hadn’t 
been for that bull,” he conceded. “ He was ten times 
worse than the moose. Animals seem to be fond of 
me. Wonder what ’ll take after me next. I’m going 
to have this sweater dyed green. Lucky I’m a ten- 
second sprinter!” 

There were a balloon ascension and a baseball game 
in the afternoon, and fireworks in the evening, so it 
was well into the night before the boys got back to 
camp. They entered the clearing at about the same 
time, Budge on his motor cycle, and Jim and Percy 
afoot, after being dropped by their auto at the 
entrance of the wood road. An inexplicable droning 
greeted their ears. 

“What’s that?” exclaimed Jim. 

Beside the boiler a dark figure rose suddenly. 
There was the click of a switch. Lights flashed up in 
152 


PERCY WINS A PRIZE 

the cabins and through the mill. A voice pierced 
the silence. 

“No more broken lamp chimneys !” 

“Throppy’s work!” shouted Budge. “He’s cele- 
brated the Fourth by lighting the plant with elec- 
tricity. How did you ever do it?” 

“Easy enough!” said the electrician, modestly. 
“I sent home for a second-hand dynamo with wires, 
bulbs and switch. The stuff came in those boxes 
that arrived the other day. While you were gone, 
Mr. Merrithew and I set up the dynamo here beside 
the pumping engine and installed the wires and 
bulbs. To light up it’s only necessary to take the 
belt off the pump and put it on the dynamo. Fifteen 
pounds of steam ’ll give plenty of power; and if the 
fire’s banked in good shape the boiler ’ll hold that 
and to spare. I know, for I’ve watched it. So you 
needn’t buy any more kerosene.” 

“Throppy,” remarked Budge, after he had finished 
an inspection of the lighting plant, “your brains are 
going to be one of the company’s biggest assets this 
summer. Don’t you dare to say another word about 
not being worth your salt!” 


XI 


MORE TROUBLE 

L EGORE and Grannitt were in the latter’s office 
the morning after Percy’s climb at Parch erville. 
The lumberman had come to have a mortgage fore- 
closed. Both were in better humor than they had 
been for some time. Lego re had gotten over his pique 
at the failure of the injunction. The lawyer was in 
a jocular mood. 

“Well, Ches,” said he around his cigar, “when are 
we going at ’em again?” 

“We don’t have to go at ’em again,” returned his 
client. “We’re at ’em all the time. I hear from the 
Peavey lot every day. There isn’t a pine needle 
drops about that mill that I don’t know of. Their 
goose is cookin’, an’ pretty soon it ’ll be done brown.” 
The lawyer’s eyes glittered maliciously. 

“Green, careless boys,” he mused. “Birds of 
passage, irresponsible strangers, here for a vacation, 
for mere amusement, taking the bread out of the 
mouths of our own honest, hard-working fellow 7 - 
townsmen. July and August are bad months for 
a town to have a portable mill operating; and un- 
burned slash is dangerous, very dangerous. This is 
i54 


MORE TROUBLE 


an unusually dry season. Our three selectmen are 
all careful, solid, conservative citizens who have the 
good of the town at heart. Benjamin Skinner (I 
think you hold a mortgage on his farm, Chesley; I 
drew it), Zachariah Brewster, and Leslie Shaw, all 
under some obligation to you or me. They would be 
justified, don’t you think, Chesley, in forbidding 
operations altogether; or, in the case of Brewster, 
who owns the adjoining lot to the south, in demand- 
ing so heavy a bond that it would be, I might almost 
say — ahem — prohibitive. Perhaps for ten thousand 
dollars! Signed by two good, reliable sureties, resi- 
dent in the county. I do not want to appear in this 
openly. My modesty will, I fear, be my undoing. 
A shy, shrinking violet, Chesley; a modest flower, 
born to blush unseen. My motto is not to let my 
left hand know what (or whom) my right hand doeth; 
and vice versa. So long as I pull the strings (and get 
well paid for pulling them), I don’t care who gets the 
credit or discredit for it. I might do something with 
the bank at Parcherville in due time; you know I’m 
one of the directors and their attorney. I’m bound 
to say that these things are mostly bluffs. Still, 
though they may not amount to much, they’ll worry 
our young friends, make ’em lose time, wear ’em out.” 

“ Never mind how little they amount to,” rejoined 
the lumberman. “Make those fellers all the trouble 
you can. I’m goin’ to smash ’em, anyway; an’ the 
more hornets’ nests you can stir up for ’em before 
I git ready, the better it ’ll suit me.” 

i55 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

“I understand,” pursued Grannitt, “that the 
father of one of ’em is John P. Whittington, the 
millionaire railroad man.” 

“Huh!” snorted Legore. “That don’t scare me 
none. I don’t owe him nothin’ and I haven’t any 
railroad stock he can freeze me out of. I’ll teach his 
boy to keep off other people’s grass.” 

For a week everything at the mill ran on smoothly. 
Throppy’s electric lights proved to be a great con- 
venience in the camps. There were no more lamps to 
fill, and no more smoky chimneys to clean and break. 

Thanks to the size and quality of the logs, the mill 
was averaging over ten thousand feet a day. The 
pile of sawdust was growing into a very respectable 
hill, which bade fair soon to overtop the rough 
board roof. Every day Budge, Throppy, and the 
marker put their heads together over the records 
shown by the tally boards. They found the result 
highly satisfactory. 

“I’ve worked in a good many mills and on a good 
many lots,” said Doggett, “but I never saw better 
stock than we’re turning out; and I never knew 
things to run smoother than they’re going now. 
There! I oughtn’t to have said that! Boasting’s 
liable to bring us bad luck.” 

“I don’t take any stock in luck,” observed Budge. 
“I’ve heard that Stephen Girard said that he had 
good luck in his business because he always planned 
for it. That’s the only kind of luck I believe in.” 

“Maybe you’re right,” conceded Doggett. “ Still, 
156 


MORE TROUBLE 

it’s just as well not to shout too loud till you’re out 
of the woods/’ 

The hundred thousand feet of boards were now on 
the sticks. According to his plan, Budge disposed of 
these at a reduced figure, for the sake of securing a 
supply of ready money. 

“What do you think now of vest-pocket sawmills, 
Jim?” he asked. “If this keeps on it won’t be long 
before we’ll be on Easy Street.” 

“I’m bound to say that so far you’ve done better 
than you promised,” granted Jim. “I only hope it ’ll 
keep up.” 

Spurling’s spare time, mornings, noons, and nights, 
was devoted to finishing the boat that he had begun. 
The other boys were glad to lend a hand when asked 
to do so and the craft progressed rapidly. 

Percy still kept up his shooting at the pasteboard 
moose head, patching his riddled target as best he 
could. A strange attachment had sprung up be- 
tween him and Maliber’s hound; Jack would have 
little to do with the other boys, but he showed an 
unmistakable fondness for young Whittington. The 
melancholy-looking dog and the light-hearted, jest- 
ing boy made an odd pair. 

Two weeks more went by, marked by only one dis- 
turbing feature. This was the unusual number of 
little fires which were constantly springing up in the 
most unexpected places. Hardly a ^ay passed but 
the entire mill crew were compelled to knock off to 
nip in the bud some threatened conflagration. 
i57 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

“ I can’t understand it,” said Budge. “The wire 
mesh of that bonnet on the stack is too close to let 
any very large cinders get through it. Besides, some 
of the fires that have given us the worst scares have 
started to windward of the mill. It almost seems as 
if somebody was setting them.” 

“I’ve thought the same thing,” said Jim. 

The eyes of both involuntarily turned toward 
McAuliffe, and they said no more. 

There was a brisk breeze from the west. GrafF, 
who had been helping the pitman, raised his head 
and sniffed. 

“I smell smoke.” 

He ran round the end of a pile of slash which lay 
to windward of the mill. A moment later he raised 
a shout. 

“Water!” 

Filling a pail from the barrel, Budge darted round 
the pile. A lively fire had started in the duff and 
was spreading rapidly. Budge and Graff were 
obliged to fight their hardest to extinguish it. 

“Now how in the world could that have caught?” 
asked Graff, after the last spark had been stamped out. 

“Don’t know,” answered Budge, shortly. 

But he had seen McAuliffe come round that very 
pile only a few minutes before. A little more and 
with so strong a wind, the mill would have gone. 
The boys felt serious as they started work again. 
That blaze certainly could not have come from a 
flying cinder. Had they a firebug among them? 

158 


MORE TROUBLE 


It was Friday when this last fire occurred. Satur- 
day morning, when they were on the point of starting 
work, Briggs made the unpleasant discovery that the 
main belt, running from the engine to the saw arbor, 
had been cut diagonally for several feet. 

“ Can’t you lace it up, Ote?” asked Budge. 

“No use,” replied the sawyer. “If it had been a 
square cut, I could have done it; but this diagonal 
slash can’t be repaired in that way. The only thing 
to do is to put in an entirely new piece. I think I can 
find one in the chest.” 

Fortunately he was right; and after an hour and a 
half the new section was put in and laced up. But 
the incident cast a gloom over the boys’ spirits for 
the rest of the day. A thing of this sort could 
not happen accidentally; somebody had done the 
mischief in cold blood. But who? 

Budge’s face was flushed and his eyes sparkled 
with anger, as he called the other boys together into 
their cabin while Briggs and Doggett were making 
the necessary changes. 

“Fellows,” he exploded, indignantly, “this thing 
has gone far enough; I’m not going^to stand it any 
longer. We’ve a traitor in camp, and I don’t think 
it ’ll take much of a detective to find out who he is. 
Might as well take the bull by the horns and have 
it done with. What do you say, Jim ?” 

Jim’s face was stern; he realized the gravity of the 
situation. 

“I feel the same as you do,” he rejoined. “This 
I S9 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

can’t go on. The sooner the thing comes to a head, 
the better.” 

He and Budge exchanged looks. 

“ Better put it up to McAuliffe now, hadn’t we?” 
asked Lane. 

“Yes.” 

“I don’t believe in spying or carrying tales,” 
remarked Throppy, quietly, “but I might as well tell 
you that he has a jug"bf hard cider hidden out in the 
pines. I saw him taking a drink yesterday. Better 
handle him with gloves!” 

Down one of the scoot roads echoed a creaking and 
shouting. 

“Here he comes now with a load of logs!” said 
Percy. 

A minute later the teamster drove by the cabin. 
Budge opened the door. 

“Come in here a minute, will you, McAuliffe?” 

McAuliffe stopped his team and entered. His face 
was flushed and there was a trace of defiance in his 
bearing. 

“What do you want of me?” he growled, suspi- 
ciously. 

The faint odor of hard cider told that Throppy had 
been right. 

Budge wasted no words. 

“We think you know something about those fires 
and that belt.” 

The teamster’s stolid features purpled. His hands 
clinched and he took a step forward. 

160 


MORE TROUBLE 


“Do you mean to say that you think I’m at the 
bottom of the trouble we’ve been having here?” he 
blustered, furiously. 

Budge was cool as a cucumber. 

“I asked you if you knew anything about them,” 
he returned, evenly. 

“Well, I won’t answer ! I didn’t come in here to be 
insulted!” 

He whirled toward the door. Jim shut it and put 
his back against it. 

“Get out of my way or it ’ll be worse for you!” 
snarled McAuliffe, threateningly. 

Jim did not move, but his glance grew more alert 
and his body stiffened. McAuliffe hesitated, taking 
stock of his antagonist. It looked like trouble. He 
made a step forward, then reconsidered. 

“I’m through!” he said. “There isn’t money 
enough in Barham to hire me to work in this gang a 
minute longer. Let me out!” 

“That suits us,” returned Budge. “Here’s your 
pay!” 

He handed the hauler a sealed envelope. Mc- 
Auliffe snatched it ungraciously and left the cabin 
wdth a menacing look at Jim. Without stopping to 
unload the scoot, he unhitched his horses and drove 
them out through the pines toward the main road. 

“There’s a good job done,” said Budge as the 
jingling of the harnesses died away. “I wish he’d 
gone a month ago.” 

“Where’ll you get a new hauler?” asked Percy. 

161 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

‘Til scare up one somewhere. Only wish I could 
find another man like Graff.” 

True to his word, he made a foray on his motor 
cycle that very afternoon, and by dint of persuasion 
and the promise of liberal pay secured Peleg Stickney, 
a young farmer, to take McAuliffe’s place. 

For several days the work at the mill ran on with- 
out interruption. Stickney proved to be a good ex- 
change for McAuliffe. And there were no more fires. 

“Guess I let the right man go,” said Budge. 

And the others agreed with him. 

One of the best members of the new force was 
Henry Ireson, the yardman. He was over sixty 
years old, a born humorist, and at the same time a 
steady, tireless worker. His long experience around 
portable mills had given him a fund of information 
that was always at the service of the boys. 

“If I had a dozen like him and Graff, I wouldn’t 
ask for a better crew,” said Budge. 

Throppy was practically well. His cough had 
vanished, his strength had come back, and he was 
doing more work every week. 

“Never felt better in my life,” he declared. “ I’m 
not going to play at being an invalid any longer.” 

It was a joyful day for him when Merrithew 
allowed him to give up the medicine. Though 
Throppy had taken the hemlock conscientiously, 
he had never learned to like it. During the long 
summer evenings he and the hermit waged many a 
hard-fought battle over the checkerboard; but the 
162 


MORE TROUBLE 


boy always felt that his antagonist could have won 
at any time he desired. Pete Simmons, the loader, 
afterward told him that Merrithew had held the 
state championship. 

The boat was finished at last. Putting her on 
rollers, the four boys dragged her down to the lake 
and launched her after supper one evening. She 
floated like a duck and was tight as a drum, a credit 
to her master builder and his assistants. On her 
trial trip the combined weight of the party could not 
settle her deep enough to make her leak a single drop. 

A southeast land fog was drifting down over the 
mountain and across the lake as they returned to the 
beach. Jim lifted his head and sniffed. 

“That’s coming from the direction of the ocean,” 
he said. “I can almost smell the salt in it. I like 
it, but it makes me homesick. I can imagine I hear 
the gulls and see Tarpaulin looming. I’m uneasy as 
a fish out of water. There’s a lobstering ground a few 
miles west of Matinicus where the sea comes from 
four ways at once. I want to get out again into a 
place like that, and feel the old boat rolling under me, 
and the screw jumping and kicking. I want to get 
hold of an oar and a steering wheel, to pull a lobster 
trap and to feel the chafe and sag of a trawl.” 

He was silent as they made their way back through 
the gloom of the pines to the cabin. 

Before supper the next night they went for a swim 
in the old quarry. Percy, diving from the brink, 
vanished in a flurry of foam. One minute passed, 
163 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

two, three, and still he did not come up. The boys 
eyed the smooth, dark-green surface with growing 
anxiety. 

“ Couldn’t have hit his head, could he?” asked 
Budge. 

“No,” answered Jim, “the water’s too deep.” 

“Then where is he?” 

As if in answer to the question, the crown of their 
missing mate bobbed up beside a shelf at the water’s 
edge. 

“ Where’ ve you been, Perce?” rose the cry. 

“Under this ledge.” 

Percy nodded at the shelf. 

“There’s a hollow beneath it, filled with air.” 

“What did you stay under so long for? To make 
us think you were drowned ?” 

“No! What do you take me for? That would be 
a low-lived trick. I was just looking around, and 
forgot that you would be anxious.” 

“Well, don’t do it again.” 

“I won’t. Come under here, the rest of you, and 
take a look.” 

Percy disappeared again. The others followed 
him. Presently they found themselves in semidark- 
ness under a rocky roof, only a few inches above the 
water. 

“Great place to hide, if anybody was chasing you, 
wouldn’t it be?” asked Percy. 

“Yes,” replied Budge, “if the other fellow didn’t 
know you were there.” 


164 


MORE TROUBLE 


Next morning, just after the mill started, an inci- 
dent occurred which almost resulted in a tragedy that 
would have made all the trouble before seem trifling. 
Briggs was cutting the first section off a large log. 
Doggett, grasping the board to take it away, acci- 
dentally canted it onto the saw. As the carriage slid 
back, the teeth of the saw, coming up, caught the 
board and wrenched it from the marker’s hands. 

Crash! With a terrific ripping and cracking the 
wood was rent asunder. One section was hurled 
directly through the roof. Another struck Briggs a 
glancing blow on the side of his head and shoulder, 
knocking him backward over the stringer. A little 
more and his head would have been taken off. 

Cries of horror rang through the mill and all work 
stopped instantly. Jim sprang forward and lifted 
the limp, senseless body of the sawyer. The left side 
of his head was fearfully bruised and his arm hung 
loosely, as if it were broken. The rest of the crew 
quickly gathered about Jim and his burden. 

“ Better take him into our cabin,” advised Doggett. 

Soon the injured man was lying in his own bunk. 
He muttered and stirred feebly, and then tried to sit 
up, but at once fell back. 

“What happened?” he groaned. 

“The saw threw a board and hit you,” replied 
Doggett. “It’s a wonder you weren’t killed. It 
was my fault,” he added, remorsefully. “I let the 
end get away from me.” 

Briggs tried to smile. 

12 i( 55 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

“Nonsense, ’Gene! You’re not to blame. That’s 
one of the chances a millman takes. But it was a 
stiff tunk. I feel as if a pile driver had hit me.” 

He attempted to lift his arm, but winced, and 
dropped it with a groan. A moment later he col- 
lapsed in a faint. 

“Better go for Doc Melvin as quick as you can, 
Budge,” said Jim. 

Lane needed no urging. He hurried away on his 
motor cycle, and in a half hour was back with the 
physician. By this time the sawyer had recovered 
consciousness, and Melvin gave him a thorough exam- 
ination. 

“No bones broken,” he reported at its close. 
“And that’s a miracle. But you won’t be able to 
handle that buzz-saw any more for some weeks to 
come. I know it may be hard for you to keep quiet, 
but you want to be glad it isn’t any worse.” 

All realized the justice of Melvin’s verdict; but 
they also realized that it was liable to prove a serious 
thing for the plant. Briggs was easily the best man 
in the entire crew, and his sudden loss was a heavy 
blow. At a council that night in their cabin, the boys 
discussed a readjustment of their working force. 

“’Gene could take the saw, all right,” said Budge, 
“ but who’d do the marking ? No ! He’d better stay 
where he is. Jim, I guess it’s up to you! You know 
Ote has been giving you points on sawing ever since 
we started. It almost seems as if he foresaw this 
accident.” 


166 


MORE TROUBLE 


Jim hesitated. 

“Do you think I can do it?” he asked. 

“Sure you can! Come now! We’re in a tight 
place; help us out!” 

Jim accepted the responsibility. 

“If you’re willing to take a chance on me, I’ll do 
my best.” 

“Good! That’s settled! Now for the rest of the 
force! We’re one man short and we’ll have to go out 
and hire somebody.” 

“No, you won’t,” said Throppy. “I’m coming in 
on this deal.” 

“Think you can stand it?” 

“Sure!” 

“Then we’ll break you in on firing. I’ll take Jim’s 
place as roller, and Perce can be pitman. How does 
that hit everybody?” 

“O. K.!” rose the chorus. 

Soon the mill was running at full blast under the 
new regime. 


XII 


INJUNCTION NUMBER TWO 


FTER the reorganization of the mill force the 



** work went on as smoothly as before, although 
not quite so rapidly. Of course Jim at first could not 
turn out as many thousand feet of boards a day as 
Briggs; but what he did he did thoroughly and well. 
His first week’s production was somewhat smaller 
than those that had preceded it; every day, however, 
saw it approaching nearer to the veteran’s record. 
Budge, as roller, made up in activity for what he 
lacked in strength; and he experienced no difficulty 
in keeping the stringers full of logs for Jim. Percy 
found that his duties as pitman took more muscle 
than firing; but under Doggett’s able instruction he 
readily acquired the knack of handling boards and 
of distributing them among the different riggings. 
Throppy, glad at last to be employed actively about 
the mill, threw himself whole-heartedly into his task 
of feeding the boiler, and had little trouble in keeping 
the steam up to the required point. By the begin- 
ning of the second week production was back almost 
to normal. 

Briggs was soon able to leave his bunk and to be 


INJUNCTION NUMBER TWO 

out around the mill, though of course he could do no 
work. Watching each of the boys in turn, the ex- 
sawyer found it possible to make many valuable 
suggestions. 

“I’ve filled every position around a portable mill,” 
said he. “ Strange if I didn’t know something about 
’em!” 

He took his enforced vacation cheerfully. 

“ Might have been a blamed sight worse,” he 
remarked. “I ought to be thankful I’m alive at all. 
No use crying over spilled milk; the best thing to do 
is to go to work and fill the pitcher again.” 

A giant log, twelve feet long, and between three 
and four feet through at the butt, lay on the outer 
end of the stringers. Budge tackled it with his roll- 
ing hook, but could hardly stir it. 

“This big fellow’s a little too much for me,” he 
confessed. “I’ll have to call for help.” 

Jim took the butt, near the saw; Doggett got 
behind the middle; while Budge stationed himself at 
the top, which lay toward the sawdust pile. Prying, 
pushing, and heaving, they rolled the monster upon 
the carriage. Briggs was an interested spectator 
while the leviathan was being reduced to two-inch 
planks. 

“As pretty a stick as I ever saw,” he commented 
as Percy slid the last board into the pit. “Wish I 
could ’ve had a hand in cutting it up. That was a 
real log, and no mistake! Not much like some of the 
saplings I’ve had to saw, just two slabs and a streak 
169 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

of sawdust! Those big fellows are pretty scarce 
nowadays. Reminds me of a lot I knew about in the 
town next to the one where I was born. Years ago 
a man had a choice group of one hundred pines. 
They were little, young trees when he was a boy 
and he would never allow them to be cut while he 
was alive. They averaged about sixty feet tall and 
from three to four feet through at the butt, and were 
as straight as an arrow. That grove was the apple of 
his eye. He kept it well thinned out and was mighty 
careful that the fire didn’t get into it. Before he 
died he estimated it at one hundred thousand feet, 
one thousand to a tree. Some time after his death 
his son had it cut, and it yielded about one hundred 
and thirty thousand feet.” 

Joe Maliber came running down one of the scoot 
roads. His face and neck were marked with red spots 
and his left eye was almost closed. 

“ What’s the matter, Joe?” inquired Budge. 

“De bee sting me, cornin’ out of a knot hole! We 
find a hollow-hearted pine, full of honey. Come on, 
everybody! Fetch de pail!” 

Joe’s words were like sparks to tinder. With 
wild whoops the mill crew knocked off. There was 
a rush to the cabins, a seizing of pails and pans, 
and a helter-skelter scamper up the scoot road in 
Joe’s wake. 

A hurried run of a few hundred feet brought them 
to the clearing where Maliber and Benoit were chop- 
ping. 


170 


INJUNCTION NUMBER TWO 

“Dere!” exclaimed Joe. “See him!” 

He pointed to a fallen pine, about which an angry 
cloud of insects was buzzing, filling the air with an 
angry, spiteful hum. From a knot hole about ten 
feet above the butt oozed a thin, yellow stream of 
honey. 

Jack, sniffing the dripping sweetness, began licking 
it off the bark below the orifice. Three or four of 
the bees stabbed him with their stings, and, yelping, 
he beat a hasty retreat. 

“We smoke ’em out,” said Benoit. 

Collecting a few handfuls of dry twigs and needles, 
he started a fire a short distance to windward of the 
knot hole, covering the blaze with green boughs as 
soon as it was burning briskly. Bewildered by the 
smudge, the bees flew aimlessly hither and thither. 
Joe and Louis worked their cross-cut saw vigorously, 
and soon laid open the insects’ hoard; and boys and 
men, heedless of occasional stings, began filling their 
pails and pans with pieces of the golden comb, not 
forgetting to eat generously during the process. It 
was a sticky, happy crowd that straggled back to the 
mill to store away their plunder in the cabins. 

“Must be over a hundred pounds in all, don’t you 
think?” said Budge. 

“All that,” replied Jim. “Enough to last us the 
rest of the summer, at any rate.” 

The next morning Briggs left for a short visit to 
his home in New Hamsphire. 

“Good luck to you, boys,” he said. “I’ll be on 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

deck again in a couple of weeks, ready to take hold as 
hard as ever — that is, if you want me.” 

“I hardly know how we’ll get along without you, 
Ote,” said Budge. “We’ll be more than glad to see 
you back.” 

That Friday, Budge, going in as usual to the 
Parcherville Savings and Trust Company, received 
an unpleasant surprise. When he presented his 
check at the window, the treasurer made no move- 
ment to cash it. 

“You’re under age, aren’t you?” he asked. 

“Yes,” answered Lane. 

“Then I’m sorry, but we can’t handle your account 
any longer. Our directors have voted not to trans- 
act any further business with minors.” 

Budge went over to see Lawton. 

“What am I to do?” he asked. “I’ve got to have 
the ready cash every week, and this is the only bank 
in town. I suppose that I can have the money sent 
down from the city by express; but I don’t like to 
go to so much trouble.” 

The attorney’s eyes sparkled with anger. 

“It’s a small, sneaky trick!” he exclaimed. “And 
I’m sure Milo Grannitt’s at the bottom of it; he’s one 
of the directors of the bank. It’s men like him that 
bring the law into disrepute. Well, he won’t make 
anything out of his dirty work this time. I can fix 
it so that you can get your money without any 
trouble.” 

“How?” asked Budge. 

172 


INJUNCTION NUMBER TWO 

“Have it put in my name as agent, if you care to 
trust me. The bank won’t be able to find any fault 
with that arrangement. You can keep the deposit 
book and check book, and when you need any money, 
Til go over with you and draw it. How will that do ?” 

“It suits me to a T,” responded the young lumber- 
man. “Another knock-out for Grannitt!” 

So the matter was arranged on this basis. 

“Wonder where that big log came from that I 
sawed the other day,” said Jim at supper that night. 
“I’d like to see the stump.” 

“Jerry Ladd hauled it in,” remarked Percy. “He 
told me it came from where Joe and Louis were chop- 
ping ” 

“Let’s go and take a look at the place,” proposed 
Jim. “We can clear up the dishes, after we get 
back.” 

In the clearing at the end of the scoot road the four 
boys met Merrithew. The hermit was surveying 
somewhat disconsolately the devastation wrought by 
saw and ax. 

“It’s hard for me to get over my feeling for trees,” 
he said. “I’ve lived among ’em so long that I’ve 
actually come to look on ’em as my friends. Still, 
this sight doesn’t hurt me so much as it would have 
done two months ago.” 

He glanced at Throppy. 

“The biggest log we’ve sawed so far went through 
the mill the other day,” remarked Budge. “We’re 
looking for the stump.” 


i73 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

‘Til show it to you,” said Merrithew. 

He led them through a tangle of slash to the other 
side of the clearing. 

“Here it is!” 

The flat, yellowish top, marked with scores of con- 
centric circles, was more than four feet across. Its 
heart was of a light straw color, and almost dry; but 
from the outer ring of sap-wood the pitch had exuded 
copiously in amber drops. 

“Looks something like that honey you ate so much 
of, Perce,” observed Budge. 

“Yes, it does look like it; but I didn’t eat half so 
much as you did.” 

Merrithew was scanning the stump keenly. 

“Boys, this tree has opened its heart to us. It has 
written a diary of its life, its autobiography, in these 
rings. Each represents the wood that has been added 
in a single season. If I had a good microscope I 
could follow a straight line drawn from bark to center, 
and tell you what had happened every year. Here 
would be a dry season; here, a fire; here, a cold year 
with frost every month; everything that had any 
effect on the growth of the tree is recorded in these 
little narrow rings. They stand for history, too. 
These four mark the Civil War; farther in is the 
Mexican War. This ring stands for the battle of 
Waterloo, and the three inside it for the War of 1812. 
Still closer to the center is the American Revolution 
and the Declaration of Independence. I’ve seen an 
arrow head of red stone, cut right in two by the saw, 
174 


INJUNCTION NUMBER TWO 

taken from near the heart of an old-growth pumpkin 
pine. The redskin who shot it into the tree may have 
fired it at a deer or at some white man in one of the 
Indian wars almost two hundred years ago. Yes, 
there’s a good deal more than mere wood bound up 
inside the bark of these pines. Their lives are 
recorded on their bodies, just as the lives of you boys 
are being recorded on yours. Every act, and even 
every thought, leaves its mark, for you or somebody 
else to see years afterward. Remember that!” 

Merrithew’s audience had given him close atten- 
tion. 

“I always thought that trees were just trees,” 
said Percy. “But you make ’em almost human. 
Wish J. P. could have heard this talk!” 

The hermit looked puzzled. 

“J. P.?” 

“Yes; my father, John P. Whittington.” 

Merrithew started with surprise, and a shadow 
crossed his face. 

“Are you the son of John P. Whittington, the 
millionaire?” he asked. 

“Yes,” replied Percy. 

The recluse gave him a strange look, but did not 
pursue the subject any further. Presently, declining 
Budge’s invitation to call on them at their cabin, he 
returned to his own camp. The boys could not 
understand his sudden coldness. 

“I don’t see what we can have said to offend 
him,” remarked Budge. “What’s the trouble, 
i75 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

Throppy? You know him better than the rest of us 
do.” 

“I haven’t the least idea why he should go off* like 
that. It’s always been a mystery to me how he came 
to live here alone. He’s never said a word about his 
early life, and of course I wouldn’t ask him.” 

A few minutes before noon the next day four men 
filed down the wood road into the mill clearing. 
Ahead was Cal Buncy, chewing vigorously. Close 
on his heels followed a stubby, red-faced individual 
with snapping black eyes and a generally pugnacious 
aspect, as if he were looking for trouble; a heavy 
gray military mustache covered his upper lip. 
Behind him came a tall, thin, hatchet-faced person 
with a frightened look, his head stooped as if in the 
act of perpetually dodging a blow. A man of me- 
dium height with a full beard, wearing an old straw 
hat and a faded, threadbare Prince Albert, brought 
up the rear. 

Budge had seen the three frequently at Holway & 
Benner’s during the past few weeks, and he recog- 
nized them at once as Benjamin Skinner, Zachariah 
Brewster, and Leslie Shaw. 

The silent procession headed straight for the roller. 
Halting his company on the brow at the end of the 
stringers, Buncy drew a folded paper from his pocket. 

“Got another injunction,” said he, seriously, offer- 
ing it to Budge. 

Budge’s heart came up into his throat; but he put 
on a bold front and took the paper. 

176 


INJUNCTION NUMBER TWO 

“These three gentlemen,” continued Buncy, indi- 
cating his companions, “are the Barham selectmen. 
They think this mill is a danger to the place in such a 
dry season, so they feel you’d better not operate here 
any more until fall.” 

This thunderbolt out of a clear sky struck Budge 
speechless. Buncy’s face and voice showed the re- 
gret he felt. The three town officers were distinctly 
embarrassed; they coughed, reddened, shuffled their 
feet, and glanced at one another shamefacedly, 
not daring to meet Budge’s eyes. Each seemed to be 
waiting for the other to act as spokesman. At last 
the short man with the bristly mustache braced him- 
self with an evident effort and made the plunge. 

“You know there hasn’t been much rain for weeks,” 
he said, gathering courage from the sound of his own 
voice. “And you’ve been havin’ lots of fires around 
here. Of course you’ve been lucky enough so far to 
put ’em all out. But if one should get away from 
you, it might destroy thousands of dollars’ worth of 
timber. So I guess you’ll have to stop.” 

He glanced at his slinking colleagues. 

“That’s right,” they approved. 

Budge found his voice. 

“But we must operate now if we operate at all. 
We’ve got to leave here and go back to college in 
September.” 

“Sorry, but you’ll have to shut down for the next 
month or so. We can’t risk burning up the town for 
the benefit of you boys.” 


177 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

“That’s right,” affirmed the other two again. 

Budge was at a loss for a reply. Skinner looked at 
his associates. 

“Guess that’s all we’ve got to say.” 

The other two nodded sagely. Relief was on their 
faces as they turned and filed silently out of the 
clearing. Buncy remained behind. He did not free 
his mind until the last selectman was well on his way 
toward the county road. 

“Sorry to come, boys, but I couldn’t help it. 
That’s the drawback about this sheriff business — you 
have to do a good many things you don’t like to. 
Between us, those three are a set of mean skunks 
who don’t dare to call their souls their own. Ches 
Legore’s got a strangle hold on ’em. They dance when 
he whistles. A mortgage’s as bad as one of them 
Middle Age thumbscrews. Never forget that, boys! 
Don’t sell your future if you can help it. Pay as you 
go and nobody ’ll have the whip hand of you.” 

“Then we’re stopped again?” said Budge. 

“Yes, but I hope not for long. You’d better tele- 
phone Lawton right away.” 

Budge went up to the farmhouse. The news of the 
shutdown made Joshua Kimball indignant. 

“Easy to tell who’s behind ’em,” he commented. 
“As the Scripture says about Esau and Jacob, the 
hands may belong to Ben Skinner and Zach Brewster 
and Les Shaw, but the voice is the voice of Milo 
Grannitt and Ches Legore. They’ve certainly got it 
in for you boys. Here’s hopin’ you beat ’em!” 

178 


INJUNCTION NUMBER TWO 

Lane soon had his attorney on the telephone, and 
the latter promptly arranged for another hearing 
before Judge Dilloway. 

“ Lucky we caught him just now!” said the lawyer. 
“He was going away day after to-morrow on a week’s 
fishing trip, and you’d have had to shut down until 
he got back. He’s a fair man and he won’t stand 
for any fooling. I’ll put a flea in his ear, so that 
he won’t grant another injunction against your mill 
without looking at the case above, underneath, 
and on both sides, and turning it inside out in the 
bargain.” 

Lawton was as good as his word. When the hear- 
ing came off the next afternoon, he struck out straight 
from the shoulder. Grannitt lost his temper, which 
didn’t help his case any. The selectmen, flushed and 
embarrassed, squirmed uneasily under the young law- 
yer’s keen questioning. The judge’s attitude showed 
that he understood the matter completely. 

“Now, Mr. Grannitt,” said he, “I can’t see but 
that these boys are entirely within their rights. It 
looks to me like a plain case of unwarranted persecu- 
tion. Don’t ask me to grant any more injunctions 
without hearing both sides, for I won’t do it.” 

“But, Your Honor — ” began the flustered attorney. 

The judge cut him short. He was indignant, and 
showed it. 

“I’ve no more time to waste listening to trumped- 
up charges against these young men. The injunction 
is vacated.” 


179 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

The Barham counselor left the room baffled and 
angry, and the discomfited selectmen followed him. 

“Well, Ches,” remarked Grannitt in his office that 
night, “Fve played my last trump and my hand’s 
about empty. It’s up to you now.” 

“Don’t you worry, Milo! I’ve got a whole hand- 
ful left. I don’t waste no time in talkin’ or bluffin’. 
When I hit at all, I hit hard.” 

Legore’s voice had risen almost to a shout. The 
attorney lifted a warning hand. 

“Don’t speak so loud,” he cautioned. “There 
may be somebody under the window.” 

“What if there is!” exclaimed Legore, impatiently. 
“Nobody could get within earshot of us in this creaky 
old shack without our hearin’ him a mile off. Be- 
sides, what’s the difference! I’m out for the scalps 
of them fellers, an’ I don’t care if everybody in town 
knows it. It’s nothin’ I’m ashamed of or want to 
cover up. You ten-dollar-for-a-ten-cent-job lawyers 
like to do things in a quiet, sneaky way, whether it’s 
needed or not.” 

“I don’t believe in going after a man with a brass 
band when you can get to him just as well with a tin 
whistle,” responded the attorney, tartly. “It’s about 
time you were showing up some of those trumps 
you’ve been telling about, if you’ve really got ’em 
to play.” 

The lumberman’s eyes grew steely. He cast a 
meaning look upon Grannitt. 

180 


INJUNCTION NUMBER TWO 

“Do you really want to know what’s next on the 
docket?” he demanded. 

“No,” returned the attorney, hastily, “I don’t. 
And what’s more, when you’re outside this office I 
want you to keep your mouth shut about my connec- 
tion with this case.” 

That night the boys went out on the lake in Jim’s 
new boat. The evening was clear and beautiful. As 
they rowed across the placid waters with slowly dip- 
ping oars, the sunset died redly out behind the west- 
ern pines and the stars began to glimmer brightly in 
the deep blue overhead. 

Budge’s mercurial temperament was down almost 
to zero. The strain of the past two weeks was telling 
upon him. 

“I’m afraid you fellows ’ll blame me for getting 
you into such a pickle,” he said. “Everything seems 
to be striking us at once. Strange! And we were 
expecting a quiet summer! Who’d have ever 
dreamed, thirty days back, that we’d be in such a 
mix-up? Wonder if it’s like that all through life! I 
hardly know which way to turn. I’m getting so tired 
and disgusted with the whole thing that I’m almost 
ready to quit.” 

“Brace up, Budge!” encouraged Jim. “About 
every business I know anything of looks good on the 
outside; you have to get into it to learn its bad points. 
The man who’s got the shoe on is the only one who 
knows where it pinches. Everybody thinks his own 
13 181 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

work is the hardest, and that it’s the other fellow 
who’s having the soft snap. But I guess things are 
averaged up pretty well.” 

“Remember, fellows,” offered Percy, “that if 
worst comes to worst, I’ve one thing up my sleeve 
that’s hard to beat, and that’s John P. Whittington.” 

“No, Perce,” declined Jim, “if your father helped 
us we’d have to pay him sometime. It ’d simply 
mean putting it off and adding interest. We’ve got 
to fight this through ourselves now. Try never was 
beat yet. We’re not going to let a crooked pair like 
Legore and Grannitt drive or frighten us away. 
We’ve got just as good a right here as they have. 
And we’re going to stay.” 

Out of the depths of the black forest to the west of 
the lake came the crack of a rifle. Percy pricked up 
his ears. 

“Who’s shooting at this time of night, and what’s 
he firing at?” 

Nobody had any explanation to offer, and they 
heard no second report. 

Two days passed quietly. Matters at the mill 
could not have gone better. Sometime in the second 
night Budge woke suddenly. There was no moon, 
and a cloudy sky made it black under the pines. 
Maliber’s hound was howling dismally. As Lane 
turned over to go to sleep again, Jim sat up in his 
bunk. 

“What do you suppose Jack is making such a fuss 
about?” he asked. “I thought I heard somebody 
182 


INJUNCTION NUMBER TWO 

prowling round outside, but I guess ’twas imagina- 
tion/’ 

Both listened, but only the melancholy baying of 
the dog came to their ears. Soon they were buried 
again in dreamless slumber. 


XIII 


THE HEAD-HUNTER 

S OMEBODY was coming in to the mill from the 
county road. At intervals between the raucous 
shrieks of the saw a whistle could be heard, growing 
shriller and louder. Soon Buncy’s lank, lathy figure 
swung into the clearing. His lantern jaws were 
working furiously and his face wore a look half 
quizzical, half serious. 

“Had to come, boys,” he said. “Eve got the 
habit and I can’t keep away.” 

“Well,” responded Budge, resignedly, but with a 
slight sinking at heart, “what is it this time?” 

“I’m a head-hunter,” answered the deputy. 
“You’ve heard about them natives of Borneo and 
other Eastern islands. When they get tired of doin’ 
nothing, they go out on the warpath after heads to 
smoke in their wigwams. So long as they get the 
heads, it doesn’t matter much whether the owners 
were their enemies or their friends. That’s the 
errand I’m on to-day, and anything that’s got a head 
had better stand from under. Can I steal a shovel?” 

“Wonder where this bolt of lightning’s going to 
hit,” thought Budge. Aloud he said: “Help your- 
184 


THE HEAD-HUNTER 


self. Right there, leaning against the water barrel. 
But what’s a shovel got to do with head-hunting? 
I should think you’d rather have an ax.” 

“I might if I was goin’ to do any cuttin’,” returned 
the officer, cryptically, bestowing a meaning wink on 
Percy, who was staring at him open-mouthed. “ But 
somebody else ’s been thoughtful enough to save me 
that trouble. So a shovel ’ll be all I’ll need.” 

He walked across the driveway on the brow toward 
the sawdust pile at the end of the mill. His jesting 
mood had passed; his face turned suddenly serious 
and the lines of his jaw were sharply defined. The 
shriek of the saw ceased; Budge stopped a log half- 
way along the stringers; Throppy turned from his 
boiler; and Percy and Doggett suspended work on 
the boards. Every eye in the mill followed the 
deputy. 

The sawaust heap at a point a few feet above its 
base was black with flies. As Buncy noticed the 
swarmingTnsects, a satisfied expression appeared on 
his features. 

“ Looks as ir this was the place for me to dig,” he 
remarked. 

Without further enlightening the puzzled boys, he 
began to wield his shovel briskly, throwing the saw- 
dust to right and left. The flies buzzed and hovered; 
the hole deepened. Suddenly with a dull thud the 
iron blade struck something. 

Buncy stopped. Triumph and regret struggled for 
mastery on his face. He beckoned to the millmen. 

185 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

“ Guess I was told right/’ he said. “This way, 
everybody ! Might as well have plenty of witnesses.” 

The entire crew gathered about him near the foot 
of the heap. 

“Now watch sharp!” he directed, as he resumed 
his digging. 

A black object, like the tip of an irregular, crooked 
limb, appeared, sticking up through the sawdust. In 
striking it the blade recoiled springily. The crowd 
of observers clustered more closely about the digger. 
Little by little the limb was uncovered, and then an- 
other close beside it. Nobody said anything; Buncy’s 
occupation was too absorbing to admit of speech. 

The sawdust flew; the flies buzzed. Soon the hole 
was deep enough to show that the two branches 
sprouted from a blackish-brown surface at the bot- 
tom of the shallow pit. Buncy began carefully 
digging around it. Percy was the first to recognize 
the outlines. 

“Why, it’s a moose head!” he exclaimed. 

The deputy shot a keen glance at him. 

“Strange you should hit it first off!” he commented, 
a trace of sarcasm in his voice. 

Percy did not notice the other’s satirical tone; he 
was staring at the grisly apparition. 

“I believe it’s the head of the very fellow that 
chased me!” he ejaculated. “I remember just how 
he looked.” 

Buncy chuckled mirthlessly. He favored Percy 
with a knowing wink. 

186 


THE HEAD-HUNTER 


“I’d give anything if I had your nerve,” said he. 
“It ’d be mighty useful to me in my business.” 

“What do you mean?” demanded Percy, wonder- 
ingly. 

But the deputy would vouchsafe nothing further. 
Giving a grunt, he continued digging. Soon the 
entire head was exposed, caked and clotted with gore 
and sawdust, where it had been cut off at the neck. 
Dropping the shovel, Buncy grasped the antlers, 
swung his prize from the hole, and dropped it on the 
sawdust slope. Then he straightened up and looked 
about triumphantly. 

“Well, boys,” he observed, “what do you think 
now of my being a head-hunter? Not so crazy as 
you thought I was, am I ?” 

The mill crew stared in silence at the grim, black, 
severed head. The flies buzzed more thickly. 
Throppy was the first to speak. 

“Gee!” he exclaimed. “Somebody must have 
shot him, cut off his head, and buried it in the saw- 
dust!” 

“Yes, I guess somebody did,” jeered the deputy. 

He dropped his facetious tone and looked straight 
at Percy. 

“What did I tell you?” he asked, reproachfully. 

The boy started back, comprehension flickering 
across his face. 

“Why, why,” he stammered incredulously, “you 
don’t think I killed him, do you?” 

“Sorry to say so, but it looks mighty like it,” 
187 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

replied Buncy. “I didn’t want to come out here on 
this errand, but I had to. I’ve got to enforce the law, 
whether it pleases me or not. I’m only the instru- 
ment in its hands, as this shovel is in mine. I warned 
you what it would mean to shoot a moose in close 
time. You took your chances, as you said you would, 
and you’ve got caught. Now you’ll have to face the 
music. That’s all there is to it, so far as I can see.” 

“But I didn’t do it,” denied Percy, stoutly. 

Buncy shook his head, still incredulous. 

“It looks bad for you,” he said. “Remember all 
the talk you made about what you’d do when you 
ran across him? Remember your target-shooting? 
There’s your mark on that tree now.” 

He pointed across the clearing to the pine, drilled 
full of bullet holes. 

“But I tell you I didn’t do it,” insisted the boy, a 
flush stealing up under his light hair. “I know I’ve 
shot off a lot of fool talk, and I’ve done a good deal of 
practicing with my rifle; and if I’d have met that 
moose when I had my twenty-two I’d probably have 
turned loose on him. But I never had the chance. 
I can bring witnesses to show wdiere I’ve been every 
minute of the last three days. Besides, I heard a gun 
fired in the woods the other night, just before dark. 
If I’d killed him I’d be willing to stand up and 
take my medicine, no matter what it cost, without 
trying to lie out of it. Whatever other faults I may 
have, that’s one thing I’ve never done and never will 
do.” 


188 


THE HEAD-HUNTER 

Relief struggled with bewilderment on the deputy’s 
face. 

“If you say you didn’t, I’m mighty glad of it, and 
of course I believe you; but I’m afraid other people 
won’t. Somebody must have shot that moose. 
Who did it, I’d like to know.” 

Budge started as if he had been pricked with a 
knife. 

“Who?” he almost shouted. “I’ll tell you. It 
was the same man that drove the spikes into those 
logs and cut that belt and has been making no end 
of trouble for us here from the very start. That’s 
who!” 

“Probably you’re right,” agreed the deputy. “Just 
the same, I’ve got to arrest your friend and take him 
before Justice Grannitt for a trial. I’m mighty sorry, 
but a complaint’s been made and all the evidence 
points to him. I’m free to state that, when he says 
out and out that he didn’t do it, I believe he’s tellin’ 
the truth. But that doesn’t excuse me from bringin’ 
him before the judge. You’ve satisfied me; but 
you’ve got to satisfy him. He’s the doctor in this 
case.” 

Percy made a wry face at the thought of appearing 
before Grannitt. 

“Fair trial I’ll get from him!” he scoffed. 

“Tell the truth and stick to it,” advised the deputy. 

“I’ll go up to Kimball’s and telephone Mr. Lawton 
to come out from Parcherville as quick as he can,” 
said Budge. 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

"PH wait here till you get back/’ observed Buncy. 
“ Guess that won’t be strainin’ justice any. Mean- 
while, I’ll brush that head up with a broom. We’ll 
have to take it along with us as evidence.” 

Budge sped away on his motor cycle, and soon 
returned. 

“ Lawton ’ll be out right off,” he reported. “He’ll 
meet us at Grannitt’s office in an hour.” 

The time dragged slowly. The boys had no heart 
to start working again about the mill. Soon it was 
time to go. The party prepared to embark in the old 
Ford belonging to two of the men. The moose head 
was fastened to one side of the car. 

“Where’s that drawin’?” inquired Buncy. “I 
was told to fetch that, too.” 

Percy brought it from the cabin. Then he held 
out his wrists. 

“Want to handcuff me?” he asked, half jokingly. 

Buncy frowned at such unseemly levity. 

“You may not find this so much fun before you get 
through,” he responded. 

As Budge began to crank the Ford, Merrithew 
came through the pines from his cabin. When he 
heard the story of Percy’s arrest his usually calm 
blue eyes flashed with anger. 

“I’ll ride to the village with you, boys, if there’s 
room for me,” he said. “Don’t know as I could do 
you any good, but I’d like to be on hand, just the 
same.” 

“Glad to have you,” responded Budge, heartily. 



ON THE OTHER SIDE, PERCY, IN REPLY TO LAWTON’S QUERIES, FLATLY 

DENIED SHOOTING THE ANIMAL 





THE HEAD-HUNTER 


It was a short, silent trip. At the Four Corners 
the hermit disembarked with the others; he stepped 
into Holway & Benner’s. 

“I won’t go up into Grannitt’s office unless you 
need me,” he said. “I don’t want to have any more 
dealings with that man than I can help.” 

As they were entering the lawyer’s stairway an- 
other auto drove up, and Lawton sprang out. The 
boys were glad to see him. A few quick questions 
and answers put him in possession of the facts. 
Together the party ascended the creaking steps 
leading to the justice’s office. 

Grannitt smiled sourly on seeing them, Dut there 
was a glint of malice in his eyes. He had not for- 
gotten their last meeting before Judge Dilloway. 

In a corner of the room sat McAuliffe, looking 
surlier and more disagreeable than ever. He nodded 
scowlingly, but did not speak. 

The hearing was brief. Buncy testified to finding 
the moose head in the sawdust pile. Under Gran- 
nitt’s questioning McAuliffe told of Percy’s target 
practice and of the threats he had made against the 
moose. Much to the boys’ surprise, he gave his 
testimony with apparent unwillingness. On the 
other side, Percy, in reply to Lawton’s queries, flatly 
denied shooting the animal, though acknowledging 
the facts to which McAuliffe had testified. 

Grannitt rendered his decision with unmistakable 
relish. 

“This is a serious matter,” he said. “The laws 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

of Maine prescribe that no moose shall be shot 
in close time. Somebody undoubtedly killed this 
animal.” 

He indicated the gory head, which had been 
brought up and deposited in a corner of his office. 

“All the facts in the case,” he continued, “point to 
Mr. Whittington. I am not expressing a personal 
opinion as to whether he is guilty or not. But I am 
bound to enforce the law to the best of my ability in 
the light of the evidence I now have at hand. On the 
one side stands the testimony of Mr. McAuliffe to the 
threats made by the accused and to his shooting at 
the target brought into court; and we have also the 
acknowledgment of the prisoner himself. On the 
other side there is only his flat denial that he killed 
the animal. I cannot see that there is anything for 
me to do but to pronounce him guilty and to impose 
the full fine of two hundred dollars.” 

“Your Honor,” requested Lawton, “I would like 
to have this hearing continued for two days, say 
until Friday morning at this time.” 

Grannitt demurred. 

“I do not see what you would gain by that. Still, 
if you desire it, I will grant your request. Mean- 
while I must put the prisoner under bonds for two 
hundred dollars.” 

The boys looked at one another and at Lawton. 

“Does Your Honor think that the circumstances 
make this necessary?” inquired the attorney. 

“I think that they do,” answered Grannitt. “The 
192 


THE HEAD-HUNTER 


offense is a serious one and there would be a tempta- 
tion for the accused, who is not a resident here, and 
who would be likely to have some difficulty in estab- 
lishing his innocence, to leave the county. I should 
not feel justified in naming a lower figure.” 

‘Til go on his bond,” offered Budge. 

The suspicion of a sneer crossed Grannitt’s leathery 
face, but his voice and manner were suave as ever. 

“My brother attorney will instruct you,” he 
replied, “that the bondsman must be a dweller in this 
county and must own real estate here. You can 
comply with neither of these requirements.” 

“Will you give us a half hour to secure a bonds- 
man?” asked Lawton. 

Grannitt unwillingly consented. 

“You will be responsible for the prisoner?” said he, 
looking at Buncy. 

“I will,” replied the deputy. 

The party adjourned to the sidewalk in front of the 
office. 

“Who’ll we get?” asked Budge. 

‘Til be glad to go on the bond,” said a voice. 

Surprised, the boys turned and faced McAuliffe. 
Nobody spoke for a moment. The discharged mill- 
man looked embarrassed. 

“Much obliged,” said Budge, rather coldly, “but 
I guess we’d better find somebody else.” 

McAuliffe turned on his heel and walked off, 
scowling more blackly than ever. Merrithew came 
across the street from Holway & Benner’s. 

i93 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

“How would I do?” he offered. “I own enough 
real estate to qualify me.” 

The boys accepted him gladly. Grannitt, on being 
notified, gave a grudging assent. The bond was 
drawn and signed and Percy was free once more. 

“Til go home now,” said Lawton. “There’s a 
case that ’ll keep me busy this afternoon and all to- 
morrow; but I’ll be out early the next day.” 

The boys, accompanied by Buncy, returned to the 
mill. The deputy struck his hands together. 

“Can you put me up to-night, boys?” he asked. 
“I’ve an idea. To-morrow we’ll try it out and see if 
it works.” 


XIV 


SILENT WITNESSES 


ORK in the mill itself was suspended the next 



V V forenoon, though the choppers and haulers 
kept busy. Percy’s acquittal was of far more im- 
portance than the sawing of six thousand feet of 
boards. As soon as breakfast was over Buncy pro- 
ceeded to put his plan into execution. 

“Where’s that hound?” he inquired. 

“Out chasing rabbits, I guess,” answered Budge. 
“Joe Maliber can probably tell you where to find 
him.” 

“Hunt him up, will you? We’ll need him this 
mornin’.” 

“What do you want him for?” 

“Never mind now. You’ll see later.” 

Although puzzled by the deputy’s request, Budge 
and Percy started out in search of Jack. They found 
him not far from where his master was chopping, and 
soon returned, dragging the woebegone beast by his 
collar, tail between his legs. Fastening Jack to the 
end of a long strap, Buncy led him to the sawdust 
pile. 

“Now,” he explained, “we’ve got to find the rest 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

of that moose, and we want this dog to help us. 
That head must have been brought here and buried 
two or three nights ago. I don’t know whether or not 
the hound can trail it to the body, but I’m goin’ to 
have him try.” 

The boys fell in with the proposal at once. 

“Bully for you!” exclaimed Budge. “Now, Jack, 
see if you can pay us for that pork roast you stole a 
few weeks ago!” 

Jack seemed to understand what was wanted of 
him. After he had sniffed inquiringly at the spade- 
hole for a few seconds, Buncy led him round the 
base of the pile. 

“ I’m in hopes he may pick up the trail. That head 
must have bled more or less, after it was cut off; and 
perhaps we can find an occasional footprint or drop 
of blood to help us. It’s lucky there’s been no rain 
for three or four days.” 

“Why do you want to find the body?” asked 
Throppy. “I don’t see how that ’ll help Perce any.” 

“Maybe it won’t and maybe it will,” replied the 
deputy. “At any rate it won’t cost anything to try.” 

At first the hound ran to and fro aimlessly; evi- 
dently he found it difficult to pick up the scent. 
Buncy, however, was not discouraged. 

“It ’ll be faintest at this end of the trail,” he said. 
“The nearer the body we get, the easier to follow 
it ought to be. If we can only pick it up for the first 
few hundred feet, we oughtn’t to have much trouble 
about findin’ the rest of it.” 

196 


SILENT WITNESSES 


Stooping over, Jim began looking for footprints in 
the underbrush on the side of the pile away from the 
mill. 

“ Whoever Drought that head in,” he suggested, 
“would keep as far as he could from the camps, for 
fear we might hear him.” 

“That’s the idea!” exclaimed Buncy. 

The land beyond the heap was rather low and 
swampy. Spreading out among the trees, the boys 
began to scrutinize the ground sharply, taking good 
care not to obliterate any possible tracks. Percy 
was the first to make a discovery. 

“Here’s a footprint!” he shouted. “And here’s a 
drop of blood right beyond it! We’ve hit the trail!” 

The mark of a boot heel was unmistakable; so was 
the drop of dried blood. The searchers felt encour- 
aged. Jack was dragged forward, and his nose held 
down to the place. Confining their search to a nar- 
rower area, the boys advanced in a fan-shaped line, 
eyes on the alert for footprints, blood, or broken twigs. 

In less than two minutes there was a yell from 
Throppy. 

“I’ve found another!” 

Sure enough, ten feet ahead there was a second 
blood drop, and near it a broken clump of fern. 

Jack was made to sniff this spot likewise. Though 
he seemed to know what was expected of him, and 
apparently did his best, he was not a brilliant success 
as a bloodhound. The scent was too faint and the 
drops too far apart. 

14 


197 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

Jim discovered the next trace in a hollow five yards 
farther on. Little by little the trail was picked up, 
now rapidly, now more slowly. A hundred yards 
from the clearing it led into one of the wood roads, 
followed that for some distance, and then struck 
straight for the base of Nebo Mountain. As Buncy 
had foretold, the drops of blood became more fre- 
quent, and the dog had now little difficulty in follow- 
ing them. Indeed, they were plainly visible to all 
the seachers. 

“ Gettin’ warm 1” remarked the deputy. “ ’Twon’t 
be long now before we find the body. It can’t be 
much farther away.” 

Presently they came to a deep gully with a pile of 
brush at its bottom. With an excited baying Jack 
suddenly wrenched himself loose from the strap and 
darted down the slope. In a moment he was snuffing 
and pawing at the brush. Then he raised his head 
and gave utterance to a long, melancholy howl. 

“He’s found it,” exclaimed Buncy. “It’s down 
there!” 

The tangled mass of boughs was pulled apart and 
the object of their search lay revealed. It was not 
an inviting sight. 

“Well!” said Jim. “Here’s the moose! What 
next?” 

Buncy produced a keen-bladed knife. 

“We’ve a little job of dissection on hand. Any- 
body want to volunteer as surgeon ?” 

Nobody did. 

198 


SILENT WITNESSES 


“Then,” said the deputy, “I s’pose I’ve got to 
tackle it myself. Let’s see where he was hit!” 

He stooped over the headless body. 

“What are you after?” asked Jim. 

“The bullet that killed him. Unless it went clean 
through him, it ’ll be lodged against some bone.” 

He cut and prodded, while the boys looked on. At 
last he gave an exclamation of satisfaction. 

“Here ’tis! Right against the backbone! Watch 
me take it out, all of you! You may be needed as 
witnesses.” 

Removing the gory, irregular lump of lead, he 
dropped it into an envelope which he put carefully 
in his pocket. 

“That may be worth two hundred dollars to you,” 
said he to Percy, “besides savin’ you lots of trouble. 
Well, let’s be gettin’ back to the mill!” 

“What are you going to do with the body?” asked 
Budge. 

“Let it stay here! Guess we can bury it!” 

The bank of the gully turned out to be soft, and 
the moose was soon covered deep with moss and 
rocks and earth. 

“Now,” said Buncy, “let’s go!” 

As they walked back to the camp, he volunteered 
nothing further about the bullet; but apparently he 
was well satisfied with the result of the expedition, 
for now and then he broke into a whistle. And with 
this the boys had to content themselves for the 
present. They soon reached the clearing. 

199 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

“Might as well start her again, fellows!” advised 
the sheriff. “You can get in three-quarters of a day, 
anyway. I’m goin’ up to Kimball’s to telephone Mr. 
Lawton. He’ll be glad enough to hear what I’ve 
found.” 

Soon operations at the mill were once more under 
full swing. Though the boys could not Understand 
the reason for Buncy’s cheerfulness, they had con- 
fidence in him and felt sure that Percy W’ould estab- 
lish his innocence. The remainder of the day passed 
without incident and they went to sleep early. 

At seven the next morning work started as usual. 
The hearing had been continued until ten o’clock that 
day and the boys desired to do as much as possible 
before setting out for Grannitt’s office. 

At about eight an automobile began honking loudly 
in the direction of the county road. 

“Why’s that fellow making so much noise?” 
exclaimed Budge. “S’pose he’s in trouble and 
wants help?” 

The sound drew nearer. Evidently the car was 
coming in through the wood road. Soon a big 
machine emerged cautiously into the clearing. It 
was driven by a chauffeur in livery and carried a 
stout man as single passenger on its back seat. 

The minute he espied its occupant Percy gave a 
yell. 

“Dad!” 

Sure enough it was John P. Whittington. 

His black felt hat was crushed down over his 


200 


SILENT WITNESSES 


square head, and his visage was as red as ever. An 
unlighted cigar was gripped firmly between his teeth. 
His face wore a somewhat stern look, shaded with 
apprehension. He shook hands with Percy and the 
other boys. 

“So this ’s your mill,” he said. “Percy wrote me 
about it.” 

His keen eyes wandered observantly over the clear- 
ing, then came back to his son. The latter, bronzed, 
burned, pitchy and ragged, would hardly have graced 
a drawing-rcom, but J. P/s look as it dwelt on his 
heir was not devoid of a certain satisfaction and 
pride. 

“Where you from, Dad?” inquired Percy. 

“The White Mountains. Had a hard ride across. 
These roads!” 

“Wish I might have driven you,” said Percy, his 
eyes enviously scanning the graceful outlines of the 
big car. 

“I’m glad you didn’t,” said J. P., emphatically, 
biting at his cigar. “I rode with you once. I got 
out alive. That was enough. I’d rather walk. 
Next time I might not be so lucky.” 

Percy flushed. 

“I’m not so bad,” he said. “I’ve never killed 
myself or anybody else yet.” 

“Always has to be a first time,” rejoined his 
father. “And I don’t want to be there when it 
comes.” 

Somewhat stiffly he disembarked from the car and 
201 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

accompanied the boys to their cabin. Sitting down, 
he pulled a folded newspaper from his pocket. 

“Now,” said he, fixing his eyes on Percy, “what 
have you got to say about this?” 

Unfolding the paper, he passed it to his son. Its 
front page bore the following glaring headlines: 

MILLIONAIRE’S SON BREAKS THE MAINE LAW 
J. P. WHITTINGTON, JR., SHOOTS BULL MOOSE IN 
CLOSE TIME 

“That’s good advertising for you and for me, isn’t 
it?” continued the railroad magnate, without waiting 
for any reply. “Why did you do it? I got up early 
this morning and saw that in the evening paper. So 
I came right across. I’d hoped you’d gotten over 
your foolishness. Well, I suppose it’s up to me to 
foot the bills!” 

“But I didn’t do it,” indignantly denied Percy. 
“And I don’t want you to settle any fine for me. 
I’m going to fight this out myself.” 

J. P. cast a long look at his son. What he saw in 
the latter’s eye satisfied him. 

“All right, Percy,” he said. “I’ll take your word 
for it. If you say you didn’t shoot that moose, you 
didn’t. We both know to our cost that you’ve got 
some failings, but I’ve never yet known you to lie. 
Somebody’s evidently got a grudge against you. 
Fight it out and I’ll stand behind you till the last 
gun’s fired!” 


202 


SILENT WITNESSES 


With Budge acting as spokesman, and the others 
putting in an occasional word, the boys told J. P. 
about their trouble with Legore and Grannitt. The 
millionaire listened attentively. 

“Yes,” said he at the close, “I see just how it is. 
Fve met men of that type before. Some have had a 
lot of money and some haven’t had so much. 
They’ll down you if they can, by fair means or foul. 
Stick to it, boys!” 

While they were talking, Lawton came into the 
camp and was introduced to Mr. Whittington. 
After a few minutes’ conversation, the lawyer went 
out for a private interview with Buncy. The mil- 
lionaire expressed his emphatic approval of the boys’ 
attorney. 

“He’s a good man. He’ll clear you, Perce, if any- 
body can.” 

While waiting until it was time to start for Gran- 
nitt’s office, Mr. Whittington strolled about the 
clearing, filling his lungs with the bracing pine air. 
The boys set the mill going, and sawed a few logs to 
show him just how the plant was operated. J. P. 
was much interested in the duties of each, and par- 
ticularly in those of Percy. 

“Some different from where you were last summer, 
isn’t it?” said he to Jim. “Should think you’d 
notice it more than any of the others.” 

“I do,” replied Jim. “But not so much as I did 
at first.” 

“We’ve got a hermit here,” said Percy. “You 
203 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

ought to meet him. He’s the man that kept me out 
of jail.” 

He told the story of Merrithew’s going on his bond. 
J. P. pricked up his ears. 

“Merrithew! Merrithew! I knew a man by that 
name once. I’d like to see him and thank him.” 

“I’ll go over after him,” offered Throppy. 

In a few minutes he was knocking at the recluse’s 
door. 

“ Percy’s father is here,” he said, breathlessly, “ and 
he’d like to meet you.” 

A shadow darkened the hermit’s face; he shook 
his head decidedly. 

“I don’t care to meet him,” he said, with finality. 

Throppy, surprised and disappointed, hardly knew 
what to say. 

“Why — why — ” he stammered. 

There was a red spot in Merrithew’s cheeks and 
his voice shook a little. 

“I’m sorry to seem discourteous, but I don’t care 
to meet Mr. Whittington, either now or at any time 
later.” 

He went in and closed the door, leaving Throppy 
staring blankly at the cabin. Puzzled by the mys- 
tery, the boy did some close thinking as he wended 
his way back to the mill. 

“Mr. Merrithew doesn’t care to come over,” he 
reported. 

The faces of the boys showed their surprise. J. P.’s 
lips tightened, but he said nothing. By this time 
204 


SILENT WITNESSES 


Lawton and Buncy had finished their interview in 
the pines, and the moment had arrived for starting 
for the ten-o’clock hearing at Grannitt’s office. 

“ Climb into my machine and I’ll take you over,” 
said the millionaire. “Guess it’s big enough to hold 
everybody.” 

“Where’s your twenty-two?” asked Buncy of 
Percy. “And that box of longs, too? We’ll need ’em 
for evidence.” 

Percy brought out tne rifle and the cartridges. In 
a short time they reached the Four Corners. Getting 
out in front of the lawyer’s office, they ascended the 
creaking stairs and entered Grannitt’s sanctum. 

The attorney greeted them with a curt nod, his 
glance dwelling for a moment on the square jaw and 
red visage of J. P., puffing from his climb. Percy’s 
father returned the justice’s glare with interest. 
From the first the two knew that they were enemies. 

The party ranged themselves before Grannitt, 
who, seated unconcernedly in the armchair behind 
his dusty table, lighted his perennial cigar. He 
looked distinctly bored. To him the trial was merely 
a matter of form. Apparently he had no question 
of Percy’s guilt. 

Before the formal opening of the case there was 
some preliminary conversation between Lawton and 
the justice. Mr. Whittington, chewing his unlighted 
cigar, listened impatiently to the dialogue, in which 
his son was referred to as “the prisoner” and “the 
accused.” At last he could stand it no longer. 

205 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

“But the boy says he didn’t do it!” he burst out. 
“And I know he’s telling the truth.” 

Grannitt permitted himself to smile sourly. 

“This is a court duly established by the statutes of 
the state. Belief cuts no figure here; evidence is the 
only thing that counts. I do not question that you 
believe your son innocent; but to prove it is quite 
another thing.” 

J. P. subsided. Grannitt glanced toward Lawton. 

“Have you anything new to bring forward in this 
case?” he asked. 

“Yes, Your Honor, we have, most assuredly. May 
I borrow your letter scale?” 

Grannitt, with an ill-concealed sneer, nodded 
assent. Lawton looked toward Buncy, who stood 
leaning against the wall, holding Percy’s twenty-two. 
Breaking open the gun, the deputy withdrew a loaded 
shell. With the aid of his knife point he extracted 
the bullet and passed it to Lawton, who laid it before 
the wondering justice. Buncy then drew an envelope 
from his pocket and handed it to the lawyer; Law- 
ton shook it over the table and a battered slug drop- 
ped out. 

“Your Honor,” began the young attorney, “I 
asked for a continuance in the hope of being able to 
discover new evidence that might shed some light on 
this case. We have here two additional and very 
material witnesses.” 

He indicated the lumps of lead. 

“The smaller, which Mr. Buncy has just removed 
206 


SILENT WITNESSES 


from the rifle belonging to the accused, is the largest 
bullet that sit can carry. The second was taken by 
Mr. Buncy from the body of the moose and caused 
his death.” 

He dropped the pellet from the cartridge on the 
letter scale; it barely moved the needle. Taking it 
off, he put in its place the irregular lump of lead; the 
black arrow jumped to a third of an ounce. 

“The twenty-two long weighs thirty-five grains; 
the other piece of lead is almost five times as heavy. 
What sort of a gun should you say it came from, Mr. 
Buncy?” 

“A thirty-thirty Winchester,” replied the deputy. 

Lawton looked toward Grannitt. 

“Either that moose was killed by a ball from some 
gun heavier than the prisoner’s rifle, or five bullets 
from this twenty-two struck in precisely the same 
spot and formed a single mass of lead, a thing practi- 
cally impossible. We rest our case here and ask that 
the accused be acquitted.” 

Grannitt could not prevent his face from showing 
the disappointment he felt. He questioned Buncy 
sharply; but the deputy, satisfaction lurking in his 
eyes, took good care that his testimony did not 
weaken Lawton’s statement of the case. So the only 
course left open to the unwilling justice was to dis- 
charge Percy. 

As the triumphant millmen left the room Budge 
hit Percy a resounding thump on the back. Out 
through the entry they crowded, and down the rick- 
207 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

ety stairs, J. P. bringing up the rear. As they filed 
out on the sidewalk Budge caught sight of a familiar 
figure in a checked suit, standing in front of Holway 
& Benner’s. He nudged Jim. 

“There’s Legore! Hanging round to crow over us. 
He won’t this time.” 

The name caught J. P.’s ear just as he emerged 
from the doorway. Without a second’s hesitation he 
walked across the road toward the scowling lumber- 
man. Legore saw him coming, but stood his ground. 
The millionaire wasted no time in beating about the 
bush. 

“Why don t you let these boys alone? You’re 
liable to get into trouble if you don’t.” 

Hard Cash reddened with anger. 

“See here, Mister Man,” he snorted, “I won’t 
make believe I don’t know who you are; but let me 
tell you something. Outside, in the place where you 
came from, you may be a pretty big toad, but you 
don’t cut no ice in this particular puddle. See? You 
may own railroads, but you don’t own Barham. I’ve 
got this little town in my vest pocket, an’ it ’ll take a 
bigger man than you with all your money to steal it 
from me. We’re not running this place for the bene- 
fit of these boys, or you, either. An’ if you or they 
don’t like the way things are goin’ here, there’s plenty 
of roads to get out by.” 

They glared at each other for a moment. Neither 
man dropped his eyes. At last J. P. turned away and 
climbed into his automobile. 


SILENT WITNESSES 


“Made a fool of myself,” he said to the boys as 
they sped back toward the mill. “Well, it isn’t the 
first time, and it probably won’t be the last. He was 
right; he amounts to something here and I don’t. 
Watch him, boys!” 

A half hour later he was on his way back to the 
White Mountains and work at the mill had fallen 
into its usual routine. 


XV 


IRESON S RIDE 


HEN Throppy pulled the knocking-off whis- 



V V tie that night, Henry Ireson, the yardman, 
stopped his pair in front of the mill and began 
fussing about his nigh horse. 

“What’s the trouble?” asked Budge. 

“ Dick’s fallen lame. See this !” 

It was a big swelling on the back of the animal’s 
right fore leg just above the ankle. 

“Looks bad, doesn’t it?” said Ireson. “But I 
guess I know what the matter is. A man doesn’t 
own a hundred or more horses without learning a 
little about ’em. Somebody must have a grudge 
against me.” 

Drawing a small pair of tweezers from his pocket, 
he began probing the bunch, while Dick flinched and 
stamped restlessly. At last with an ejaculation of 
triumph he pulled out a black strand. 

“Horse hair! That was threaded through his leg 
between the cord and the bone to start a sore. Pretty 
mean trick on the horse! Now that it’s out, the 
swelling ’ll go down quick.” 


210 


IRESON’S RIDE 

“How did you know the hair was inside?” asked 
Jim. 

“Oh, Eve traded in horses all my life, and IVe 
bought my knowledge. Some of it has come pretty 
high. Eve had all sorts of experiences, some funny, 
and some not so funny. You've read Whittier’s 
poem called Treson’s Ride’?” 

“Eve heard it recited a dozen times,” said Jim. 

“Well, Ireson was a distant relative of my father’s. 
Whittier didn’t give him a fair deal. When he sailed 
away from that vessel in Chaleur Bay with his own 
townsmen aboard, he didn’t know she was sinking, or 
he’d never have abandoned her. He was too much of 
a man to do such a thing. But that’s gone by years 
ago and the right and wrong of it have been settled 
somewhere else. Want me to tell you about an 
Ireson’s ride of another sort? It’s one I took my- 
self on a fall night behind a horse Ed been swindled 
into buying.” 

“Nothing ’d please us better,” said Budge. 

“All right! Ell be round after supper to-night, 
when Eve looked out for my team.” 

The mosquitoes drove the boys under cover at an 
early hour that evening. Shortly afterward Ireson 
came in, and began his story. 

“How would you like to drive a horse ninety years 
old? 

“One spring I paid thirty-five dollars for a sorrel 
named Charley, just turned eight years. He was a 
good horse, easily worth a couple of hundred, until an 
211 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

accidental jump from a back barn-door knocked out 
his ‘stifle.’ The bone made a bunch as big as your 
fist on the front of his off* hind leg. He could lie down 
on his right side; but when it came to rising he had 
to sit up like a dog, and lift himself by putting his 
left foot under him. 

“Charley was a willing worker. He couldn’t road 
very fast; but he was all right for short drives. He 
was worth the thirty-five and more. 

“Early one September day I harnessed Charley 
into my new Corinna wagon, and started for Parcher- 
viile. I had as passengers Ben Sykes and Uncle 
Mose Ringhorn. 

“Ben was my cousin five or ten times removed. 
Mose wasn’t my uncle any more than he was my 
great-grandfather. We couldn’t have traced any 
relationship this side the Mayflower; we’d probably 
have had to go at least as far back as Adam. Mose 
couldn’t claim even a fortieth cousin in Barham Four 
Corners, but everybody ‘Uncled’ him. He had a 
thorn in the flesh. Most of the time he could talk well 
enough; but get him excited and he would stutter 
worse than a gasoline launch. 

“We wore down the miles and reached Parcher- 
ville at dinner time. Ben found that his business 
would keep him there till the next day. By the time 
Uncle Mose and I were ready to start for home 
Charley had stiffened up, and I saw we’d either have 
to stay in town that night or get a better horse. 

“So about dark we drove into the stable of Sid 


212 


IRESON’S RIDE 


Ruggles, the worst thief that ever lived, barring 
none. Sid grinned when he saw me. If the Devil 
should ever lose his front teeth, he’d pass for Sid’s 
twin. And it wouldn’t be any great of a mistake* 
either. 

“‘Hello, Sid!’ said I. ‘When did they let you out 
of state’s prison? I want a horse, a good driver. 
What’ve you got to trade?’ 

“Sid rubbed his hands, and grinned wider than 
ever. 

“‘Now ain’t that lucky! I’ve got exactly what 
you want.’ 

“He pointed to a white horse that had just come 
into the yard. 

“‘How’ll he suit ye? Only six hours from Green- 
port!’ 

“Forty miles! That wasn’t so bad; neither was 
the horse — in the dark. But I filed an objection, on 
principle. 

“‘Guess he won’t take us to Barham Four Corners 
to-night, if he’s just come from Greenport.’ 

“(As a matter of fact he hadn’t; but I didn’t know 
it then.) 

“‘Oh yes, he will!’ lied Sid, cheerfully. “I think a 
heap of that horse. And there’s nobody I’d ruther 
see have him than you.’ 

“Coming from Sid, this wasn’t much of a com- 
pliment. I took a lantern, and skinned up the beast’s 
lip. His upper teeth seemed to be good and he 
appeared to be twelve or fifteen years old. I didn’t 
15 213 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

look at his under jaw. I wasn’t thinking of under 
jaws just then, but of getting home, 

“ Meanwhile Sid had been running his eye and 
hands over Charley. 

“‘Well?’ said I. 

“Three dollars to boot,’ he proposed. 

“I laughed at him. He swore up and down — and 
it was some swearing — that he wouldn’t take a cent 
less. We wrestled it out and finally broke even. 

“‘What’s his name?’ I asked. 

“Whenever I get a new horse I always like to be 
properly introduced. 

“Sid hemmed and hawed. Where he had had 
the animal long enough to become so fond of him, 
it seemed strange to me that he should hesitate 
on his name. 

“‘Buster,’ answered he at last. 

“I slipped my harness off Charley, buckled it on 
Buster, and backed him into my new wagon. Every- 
thing went slick as grease. Only, as we drove out of 
the stable it seemed to me that Sid grinned. But 
the light was so dim I couldn’t be sure. 

“Once on the street, Buster began to beat from 
one side to the other. Says Uncle Mose: 

“‘We’ll go home a-fluking.’ 

“I didn’t feel quite so certain of that. 

“‘Mustn’t crow too soon, Ringhorn,’ said I. ‘You 
haven’t seen so many of these old fellows as I have.’ 

“The horse wanted to go into everybody’s door- 
yard. I judged he must have been a fish peddler. 

214 


IRESON’S RIDE 


We seesawed out to Porktown Flat, and, as usual, he 
turned into the first driveway. The time seemed ripe 
for a little moral suasion. 

“I took out the whip and lammed him one. 

“He made two jumps and then balked, landing 
stiff legged. 

“When he stopped I started. I bucked the dash- 
er and flattened it straight down on the whiffletree. 

“What I said isn’t worth mentioning here. 

“We both took hold and straightened up the 
dasher. Plying the whip freely, I ran Buster down 
the hill and across a bridge; there he balked again. 

“‘Got a knife, Uncle?’ asked I. 

“‘What for?’ says Mose. 

“T want to cut this crowbait’s throat and push 
him off the bridge.’ 

“But neither of us had a knife, and the lack of one 
was that old slacker’s only salvation. 

“We got out. I dragged Buster by the bits, while 
Mose pushed behind the wagon, carrying on a con- 
versation with himself. It was a ten-rod hill and we 
moved a little better than ten feet a minute, so it 
took us about a quarter hour to reach the top. 

“By this time it was past nine. We had started 
before eight and had gone less than two miles. 

“Just beyond the summit was a house, all dark; 
everybody had gone to bed. I went up and knocked, 
to see if I couldn’t get the owner to take us to Barham 
Four Corners. 

“It wasn’t any use. He wouldn’t open up, but 
215 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

talked to me through the door; said his horse wasn’t 
able to go. So we had to keep on: 

“It was getting late, and I began to feel that, be it 
ever so humble, there was no place like home. It was 
Saturday night and I couldn’t help thinking of the 
steaming pot of hot baked beans in my oven. I 
would have given considerable boot if I could have 
swapped Buster for those beans. 

“We called at five houses. But nobody would 
come to the door. Not one had a horse able to 
take us to Barham Four Corners at that time of 
night. There were more old, sick, and feeble animals 
on that road than I had ever dreamed of. I was get- 
ting desperate. 

“The sixth house stood high up on a bank. I 
rapped, and the dog answered. By and by a man’s 
voice growled: 

“‘What d’ye want out there?’ 

“My knocking must have broken his beauty sleep; 
he talked as cordially as if his mouth was full of 
gravel. 

“‘Our horse is sick,’ said I. ‘We’d like to leave 
him here and hire somebody to take us to Barham 
Four Corners to-night. We’ll pay anything in 
reason.’ 

“‘Well, I can’t go!’ snaps he, short and anything 
but sweet. 

“It made me feel unpleasant. I wanted to get 
even with him somehow. Says I: 

“‘Has this house any cellar drain?’ 

216 


IRESON’S RIDE 


“‘Of course it has! What a blamed fool question 
to ask!’ 

“‘Well, I thought you must be a blamed fool if it 
hadn’t.’ 

“Down in the road Uncle Mose was having a fit or 
something of the sort. It sounded as if he had 
swallowed the entire lot of consonants in the alphabet 
and was trying to get them up and out all at once. 
At last he got the better of his tongue. 

“‘Come away,’ he warned, ‘or he’ll shoot ye!’ 

“I came away. And we kept on. But it was a 
long, long way to Tipperary. The road seemed to be 
made of India rubber. It was as if somebody had 
hold of the other end and was stretching every mile 
out to five. 

“That old, wooden-legged centipede set one foot 
before the other as if he was testing a bridge of rotten 
planks. The only reason he moved at all was that 
it was easier for him to fall forward than to stand 
still. 

“‘S’pose we’d get ahead any faster if we turned this 
old plug round and backed him?’ asked Ringhorn. 

“I tried to whale him along, but he had a hide like 
a rhinoceros. He simply came to a dead halt and 
looked round at me as if he thought I was tickling 
him with an ostrich feather. Finally I stopped lick- 
ing him. I didn’t want to wear out the whip. 

“Uncle Mose lost his temper; he shook his fist at 
the horse. 

“‘D-d-d-d—’ he began. 

217 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

‘‘I stopped him. 

“‘Hold on, Uncle/ said I. ‘Don’t abuse the alpha- 
bet so much; it’s never done anything to you. I 
know what you want to say, and I’ve been saying it 
myself inside for the last two hours a good deal better 
and stronger than you can. If swearing would have 
helped us we’d have been home long ago. Cut it out !’ 

“Mose did. An owl hooted lonesomely from the 
spruces. I dropped the whip back into its socket 
and let Buster take his own gait. I was beat, all in. 
We joggled along in the dark. Those beans were 
growing cold. 

“At about eleven we came to Ike Dixon’s. 

“Ike kept the wolf from his door by making and 
peddling soft soap and by trading horses. We 
crawled up into the yard and routed out Brother Ike. 

“Pretty soon he showed up in his shirt sleeves, 
with a lantern. He was the homeliest man in four 
counties, cross eyed and red headed, with a high, 
squeaky voice; besides all that, he stuttered as bad 
or worse than Uncle Mose. 

‘“T-t-t-t-t — ’ he started in. 

“‘My horse is hungry,’ I said, ‘and I’d like him to 
have a feed.’ 

“‘Wh-wh-wh-what do you want to g-g-g-g-give 
him?’ 

“‘I guess gruel will about fit his case.’ 

“We surprised Buster with two quarts of meal; he 
almost dropped dead, but recovered himself in time 
to surround the meal. 


218 



“not a t-t-tut-tut-tooth in his head 












































* 




































s 




























































* 











































* \ 











































































*»«- - . - .* 




































































IRESON’S RIDE 


“While he was Fletcherizing, Ike slid his hand 
inside the horse’s mouth along his lower jaw. Then 
he faced me and grinned pityingly. 

“‘K-k-k-k-k-k!’ he cackled. ‘Not a t-t-tut-tut- 
tooth in his head!’ 

“And there wasn’t — on his lower jaw. His upper 
teeth had had a quarter inch cut off them, making 
him look a dozen years younger. 

“Ruggles had snatched me bald headed. 

“Uncle Mose began to spit consonants, warming 
up for a stuttering match with Ike. But I cut the 
preliminaries short. 

“‘Get in, Ringhorn! We’ve got to be going.’ 

“Ike bantered me to trade. 

‘“I’ve g-g-g-got a h-h-h-horse I’ll let ye have for 
f-f-five d-d-d-dollars to b-b-boot. Only he’s a leetle 
mite b-b-balky.’ 

“‘Ike,’ said I, ‘I’ve got one balky horse, and I don’t 
see what I want of another. I know what mine’ll do, 
and I don’t know what yours won’t do. So how’ll it 
help me any to trade?’ 

“Ike looked disappointed. He’d have swapped 
horses at his own funeral. 

“We inched along. That brute had strength, and 
it’s a wonder he hadn’t killed us that night. We 
came to Drinkwater Hill, and went down it on the 
dead run. Near a curve halfway to the bottom we 
hit a drain and for more than twenty feet the wagon 
skated along on two wheels. 

“At about one in the morning we reached Ben 
219 


JIM SPURRING, MILLMAN 

Sykes’s. Ben, of course, was at Parcherville, but I 
felt sure his horse was in the barn. It was my plan 
to leave Buster there and drive the rest of the way 
home with Ben’s horse. 

“I turned into the yard, took Buster out, and 
started with him for the barn. 

“It was empty. 

“Afterwards I learned that Ben’s wife had taken 
the horse that day and gone to visit her relatives in 
Smyrna. 

“I didn’t say anything — for publication. 

“We harnessed Buster into the wagon again and 
started along. At least I started. Mose had had 
enough. 

“‘Hen,’ said he, sort of shamefaced, ‘sorry to leave 
ye, but guess I’ll have to walk ahead. I’m going to 
get up early and I’d like to be home in time to catch 
a few winks.’ 

“‘Don’t blame you a bit, Uncle,’ said I. ‘I’d be 
glad to walk, too, if I could. But I’ve got to stick by 
this traveling corpse until he’s under cover.’ 

“Mose was cruel enough to break into a whistle as 
he stepped briskly out of the yard. Buster and I 
plugged along alone. We arrived home at half past 
two. 

“I unharnessed the horse and put him down out of 
sight in the barn cellar. I was ashamed to have any- 
body see him. The fire in the stove had gone out 
long ago, and the beans were cold, but I made a good 
meal. 


220 


IRESON’S RIDE 


“Monday Ben returned from Parcherville and 
came over to see me. 

“‘Ben/ said I, ‘Eve got a poultice for ye down 
cellar. Trade him off. Get what you can. I never 
want to set eyes on him again.’ 

“Ben swapped Buster that very afternoon with old 
Sile Larkin at the foot of Butternut Hill for a horse 
that had the blind staggers, getting five dollars and 
a sheep to boot. I took the bill, and told him to keep 
the sheep for his commission. Then he traded the 
Larkin horse with Gid Barker for two sheep, a half 
dozen hens, and two-fifty in cash. I gave him the 
sheep and the hens. 

“If ever a horse was ninety years old it was that 
same Buster. 

“What was he really worth? 

“Nothing. 

“But did I ever get even with Sid Ruggles? 

“Did I? 

“Jockeys never hold any hard feelings against one 
another; but I had my hatchet whetted for Sid. 

“Somebody traded a horse off on me with a bad 
case of glanders. 

“I arranged with Ben Sykes to meet Ruggles at 
Ben’s house in the evening. Just before I reached 
the place I swabbed out the horse’s nose. 

“When I drove up I was in a tearing hurry. 
Didn’t get out of the wagon, but dickered with my 
watch in my hand. Had to sit up that night with a 
sick man and was late already. 

221 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

“Ruggles’s horse was sound, good aged, and mod- 
erate turned, with no gray hairs. First he asked ten 
dollars to boot, then dropped to five. I laughed at 
him and started out of the yard. 

“ As I went I offered to trade even. 

“At that I didn’t care much. My man was awful 
sick and I couldn’t wait. It was put up or shut up, 
and mighty quick too. 

“Sid put up. 

“ I’ll credit him with not really wanting to. It was 
against his principles, or what stood for ’em, to decide 
on a snap judgment. 

“He looked rather sick when he saw me driving off 
with his horse. 

“Later he was sicker still. 

“The town took away the horse he got from me, 
and had him killed.” 

Ireson drew a long breath; he glanced at the alarm 
clock on the shelf. 

“Nine o’clock,” he said. “Guess I’ll take another 
look at Dick’s leg before I turn in.” 

He bade the boys good-night, and went out. 

“No horses for me,” remarked Percy. “Rubber 
tires have it over hoofs every time.” 

Saturday forenoon they made a good record, the 
mill sawing more than seven thousand feet of 
boards. 

“What do you say to shutting down for the day 
and climbing Mount Nebo this afternoon?” proposed 
Budge. “We’re ahead of our schedule and I think 
222 


IRESON’S RIDE 


we’re entitled to a little vacation. The air’s so clear 
that we’ll get a corking view.” 

The plan met with everybody’s approval. Throppy 
banked his fire carefully. The men who lived in the 
neighborhood went home. Even those who occupied 
the cabins around the mill scattered on various 
errands to Barham Four Corners and Parcherville. 
By two o’clock the boys were on their way through 
the pines to the foot of the mountain. 

Soon they reached the lower slopes and began to 
ascend. Up they went, up, up, through the dim, 
green twilight of the quiet woods; over beds of soft 
gray moss; past spreading clumps of fern and rare 
clusters of waxy-white Indian-pipe; across ledges 
sparsely covered with blueberry and ground juniper; 
through patches of dwarf spruce and pine and oak, 
warped and twisted by the fierce winter winds; until 
after a final scramble over the rocks they came out 
on the bare ledgy summit. 

There in the strong, cool breeze they threw them- 
selves flat to regain their breath and drink in the 
view. East, west, north, and south the forest-clad 
country stretched away in a rumpled green carpet, 
broken by hill and field, lake and river, tiny white 
farmhouses and red barns, with here and there a 
white ribbon of dusty road. The sky was without a 
cloud. Far west on the blue horizon loomed the 
giant range of the White Mountains, topped by 
majestic Washington. 

The boys gazed, spellbound. Even Percy, in high 
223 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

spirits at being freed from his work, was awed to 
soberness by the magnificence of the scene. 

“ Great, isn’t it?” he said. 

“Yes,” agreed Jim, “it’s certainly hard to beat. If 
I stopped here long enough, 1 guess I’d come to be as 
fond of the country as Throppy is. Not that I’m 
going back on the salt water — but I like the woods, 
too.” 

Percy, foraging with a healthy appetite, soon dis- 
covered a patch of blueberries in a hollow of the rocks. 

“Big as the end of my thumb and thick as mud! 
Come on, fellows!” 

Soon each boy was outstretched beside his own 
special bush, picking, eating, and snatching occasional 
glimpses of the landscape. 

“There’s the Peavey lot!” exclaimed Throppy. 

Far below in the clearing carved out of the sur- 
rounding pines they could see the yellow-roofed mill 
with its ebony stack. 

“I’ve a new name for that place,” said Jim. 

“What is it?” asked Budge. 

“Purgatory.” 

“I’ve sometimes been tempted to call it something 
stronger,” remarked Lane. 

“Well, whichever it is,” responded Jim, “we’re 
going to win through. I wonder what ’ll hit us next.” 

He did not have to wonder long. 

Percy sprang to his feet with a wild yell. 

“There goes a porcupine!” 

Quills, routed from his lair in an adjacent thicket, 
224 


IRESON’S RIDE 


panic stricken, waddled lurchingly down over the 
ledges, while the boys laughed and shouted at him. 

Suddenly — whee-ee-ee-ee! 

The boys leaped to their feet. Beside the black 
chimney on the Peavey lot a tiny white cloud was 
puffing up. From the pines beyond the mill rose a 
spreading blur of grayish smoke. Budge was the 
first to appreciate its meaning. 

“All down, fellows !” he shouted. “The lot’s 
afire!” 


XVI 


FIGHTING FIRE 

D OWN the broken mountain-side rushed the boys, 
fear gripping their heartstrings; clattering over 
ledges, crashing through thickets, spurred on by the 
warning note of the incessant whistle. The catas- 
trophe had fallen as suddenly and unexpectedly as 
a thunderbolt from a sky as clear and blue as that 
which arched above them. They had good reason to 
run; their whole summer was in jeopardy. 

Budge was ahead, with Jim close behind him, while 
Percy and Throppy galloped in the rear. Lane’s 
brain was in a turmoil; his face showed his feelings. 
“What did 1 tell you?” he flung back to Jim. 

At first they caught frequent glimpses of the 
increasing smoke cloud that rose from the mill clear- 
ing, but as they descended the trees concealed the 
mass of drifting gray. 

On the lower slopes of the mountain the woods 
were more open and they made quicker and easier 
progress. The strong wind, soughing through the 
topmost boughs, brought with it a faint scent of burn- 
ing pine. The persistent scream of the whistle, the 
voice of the plant crying for help, grew constantly 
226 


FIGHTING FIRE 

louder. Somebody had evidently tied down the 
wire. 

The uncertainty as to what was happening at the 
mill tormented Budge. Fanned by the wind, the 
flames might already have set the structure ablaze. 
Would the boys be in time to save it? Success or 
failure might hang on two or three minutes. They 
ran faster. 

The Peavey lot at last! The boys burst into a 
choppers’ clearing and rushed down a scoot road. 
A thick cloud of smoke rolled through the pines into 
their faces. A sharp crackling and snapping reached 
their ears. 

“I’m afraid she’s gone!” gasped Budge. “ Hurry, 
fellows!” 

A moment later they came in sight of the mill, 
whose whistle was still screeching deafeningly. The 
ground to windward was alive with leaping, tossing 
tongues. The slab-pile was burning. Already fiery 
serpents were writhing up the posts that supported 
the board roof. To the boys the sight was an appall- 
ing one; all their high hopes seemed to be going up 
in smoke and flame. 

Close to the sawdust heap in the very path of the 
approaching conflagration a hatless, coatless figure, 
gray-haired, with red, perspiring face, was furiously 
wielding a shovel in the fruitless attempt to beat out 
the fast spreading fire. The boys at once recognized 
Merrithew. Unquestionably it was he who had 
given the alarm by tying down the whistle wire. 

227 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

But, though he leaped from spot to spot and swung 
his shovel with the agility of youth, the flames stead- 
ily gained. He could be in but a single place at 
once while the blaze was advancing on a broad front. 

An intense relief overspread his features as he 
glanced round and saw the boys. He waved his 
arm in a wild gesture for help. 

“Take hold here quick, if you want to save your 
mill!” 

No words of Merrithew’s were needed to urge the 
four to do their utmost. In such a crisis the mantle 
of leadership naturally fell upon Jim, and he did not 
shirk the responsibility. He snatched up the spare 
shovel leaning against the boiler. 

“ Budge, run over to Ireson’s cabin and get his 
spade! Percy, you and Throppy take those pails, 
fill them out of the barrels, and throw the water where 
I tell you! Lively now! Seconds count !” 

Leaving the others to follow his directions, he 
darted round the end of the plant to reinforce the 
hermit in his gallant but lonely battle. They were 
soon joined by Budge with Ireson’s spade. The 
three fought their hardest to keep the fire out of the 
mill, while Percy and Throppy dashed pailful after 
pailful of water on the blazing posts, striving to pre- 
vent the flames from catching the roof. 

Still the conflagration gained. Budge turned a 
white, hopeless face toward Jim. 

“It’s no use! She’s gone!” 

“Not yet! Don’t give up!” 

228 


FIGHTING FIRE 


Spurling was fighting like a demon. In his power- 
ful grasp the heavy shovel rose and fell as if it weighed 
no more than a straw. His flushed face, blackened 
by smoke and cinders, was mottled with drops of 
perspiration. Percy, catching a glimpse of his 
chum’s set features, was reminded of the losing 
battle they had waged with wind and sea when their 
dory had been blown off Tarpaulin the summer be- 
fore. How different from their present situation! Yet 
here too Jim was putting forth all there was in him. 

A shout from Throppy! 

“The barrels are almost empty! What ’ll we do?” 

And the posts were still burning. Something 
almost like a groan burst from Jim’s lips. Even he 
was beginning to despair. 

“Take a couple of pails apiece, run down to the 
lake, and fill ’em! Be as quick as you can!” 

It was a forelorn hope; for the lake was hundreds 
of feet distant. Budge had a sudden inspiration. 

“Wait!” he cried. “Can’t we use the hose?” 

“Don’t think there’s enough steam in the boiler,” 
returned Jim. “To do any good, we ought to have 
about seventy-five pounds. And there’s nowhere 
near so much. But you might try it. Shut off that 
whistle!” 

He swung his shovel more fiercely than ever. 
Throppy and Percy cast aside their pails and sprang 
to the boiler. They unfastened the whistle wire and 
the screeching suddenly ceased. Unscrewing the 
short pipe from the injector, they put on the fifty-foot 
16 229 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

hose. Percy dragged it through the mill, uncoiling 
it, as he went. He aimed the nozzle at one of the 
blazing posts. 

“We’ll soon kill that!” 

But no water came. Jim had been right. The 
well-banked fire had not been hot enough to keep up 
the requisite number of pounds of steam, and the 
constant whistling had sapped the strength of what 
was already in the boiler. Bitterly disappointed, 
Percy sprang back with the hose. 

“Come on with your pails, Throppy !” 

The two raced down through the pines to the lake. 
The other boys and Merrithew still waged their losing 
fight. But at last even Jim acknowledged that the 
flames could no longer be kept out of the mill. He 
had brains as well as grit, and his good sense told 
him that it was foolish to waste any further strength 
trying to stave off the inevitable. The only sensible 
thing to do was to make the best of the situation and 
change their tactics. 

“The fire’s got the best of us!” he cried. “We 
can’t stop it from running through the mill. Let’s 
hold it down all we can!” 

Throppy and Percy came hurrying back from the 
lake, in each hand a slopping pail of water, two-thirds 
full. 

“Where’ll you have this?” shouted Whittington. 

“Nowhere now. Put it down. We may need it 
worse later. Catch hold, everybody, and let’s get 
out whatever we can move! Hustle! In a couple of 
230 


FIGHTING FIRE 


minutes it ’ll be so hot under that roof that a man 
won’t be able to live there!” 

Jim’s orders were obeyed to the letter. In and out 
of the mill darted the boys, salvaging everything that 
they could lift. Merrithew, forgetful of his years, 
was as active as any of them. Doggett suddenly 
appeared and united his efforts to those of the others. 
Meanwhile the fire, unhindered, ran up the posts and 
swept over and under the board roof. A furnacelike 
heat smote down upon the workers. Flames caught 
here and there on the loose flooring. 

Soon nothing that could be promptly moved 
remained within the structure. Doggett, without 
waiting for instructions, had been cutting the belts 
squarely across and saving as many as he could. 

“Now the carriage, Budge!” cried Jim. 

Together the two boys leaped in under the ceiling 
of simmering flame. In an incredibly short time the 
heavy carriage, impelled by their strong hands, was 
sliding along its track toward the tail end of the mill. 
A moment later a vigorous push sent it out of the 
burning structure, and off* the rails into the sawdust 
heap. Budge and Jim gladly sprang after it; the 
scorching heat had become almost unendurable. 

Doggett gave a yell of dismay. 

“My tally-boards!” 

In the general excitement the perforated sections 
that bore the record of their summer’s work had been 
forgotten. The interior of the mill was now ablaze 
in a dozen places. 


231 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

"It’s too late to save ’em!” shouted Jim. “Let 
’em go! Here! Stop!” 

But his warning was unheeded. The marker, 
determined at any cost to save his pegged account- 
books, flung himself into the midst of the flames. A 
few quick leaps carried him to his accustomed place. 
The fire was already licking the thin boards when he 
wrenched them down and rushed out again into the 
open air, singed but triumphant. 

Jim’s brain, keyed to its highest pitch, caught 
another idea. They could not prevent the engine 
and other machinery from suffering some damage, 
but the harm could be materially lessened by prompt 
action. He ran at the top of his speed to their cabin, 
and was quickly back with a coil of rope. 

“We’ll throw this round one of the rafters and pull 
the roof off to one side,” he explained. “That ’ll keep 
it from doing so much damage when it falls. There’s 
the place!” 

He fastened the rope end loosely round a timber 
which the flames had not yet reached. 

“Now then! Grab hold and pull for all there is 
in you! We’ve got to rip it off before this rope 
catches fire and burns through.” 

Forming a line, they all began pulling. The rope 
strained, the rafter creaked; but the structure had 
been strongly built and the roof stood firm. A 
serpent of fire crept toward the knot. 

“Once more!” exhorted Jim. “All together!” 

The six gave a mighty surge. This time they were 
232 


FIGHTING FIRE 


successful. The blazing framework swayed toward 
them. Crack-ck! ! Crack-ck! ! Crash-sh ! ! ! Down 
it tumbled with a splintering smash, sending a 
column of sparks and dust high into the air. Despite 
the havoc the conflagration was working in the rest 
of the mill, the boys could not restrain a cheer, for the 
falling boards had almost cleared the engine. They 
stood still for a moment to regain their breath. 

“ Well, there’s one thing, at any rate, to be thankful 
for,” observed Spurling, quietly. 

But plenty still remained to be done. The ruined 
roof was burning briskly where it had dropped, while 
the posts that had supported it stood up stiffly, 
wrapped in flames. The fire was creeping along the 
ground around the ends of the mill. It had already 
caught in a dozen places in the woods to leeward, but 
the trampled earth beside the boiler and the scoot 
road leading to the brow formed an island of safety, 
on which was piled the material rescued from the 
plant. 

“Take two of those pails of water to the sawdust 
heap, Percy,” ordered Jim. “Fight the fire away 
from the carriage. Throppy, keep an eye on this 
other stuff* and see that it doesn’t catch from any 
spark. Pity we haven’t more water!” 

He leaned upon his shovel handle, his eyes on the 
fiercely blazing ruins. 

“Why can’t we use dirt?” exclaimed Budge. “I’ve 
heard Ote say that there was nothing better for put- 
ting out a fire on the ground.” 

233 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

Doggett seconded Budge’s suggestion. 

“It’s just the thing here! The quicker we stop 
those boards from burning, the less it ’ll cost to repair 
the damage. Where’s that pick-ax?” 

A wide hole was soon opened in the surface of the 
ground. Striking his pick again and again into the 
dry soil, Doggett kept it so loose that it could easily 
be taken away with pail and shovel. Jim’s first test 
of this simple fire extinguisher convinced him of its 
value. 

“It’s just a question of throwing as much of it on 
as we can!” he cried. “Keep at it, boys! We’re not 
beaten yet.” 

The woods were now blazing beyond them in the 
direction of the lake. 

“What can we do about that?” asked Budge, nod- 
ding toward the roaring furnace among the pines. 

“Nothing now,” returned Doggett. “It’ll have to 
burn itself out. The lake ’ll stop it; and this wind is 
driving it so straight that it won’t spread very far 
to either side before we can get a chance to tackle it. 
We’d better put all we’ve got on the mill.” 

The pick rose and fell; the dirt flew. Foot by foot 
the boys fought their way over the smoking, blazing 
ruins. Eyes smarted, faces and hands were blis- 
tered, holes were burned in clothing, and feet were 
scorched; but for almost two hours the pails and 
shovels were busy. At the end of that time only a 
few straggling wisps of smoke rose from the site of 
the plant. 


234 


FIGHTING FIRE 

Jim glanced at Doggett. The marker dropped his 
pick. 

“No use throwing on any more,” he said. “We’ve 
done all we can.” 

Gladly, yet heartsick at the sight before them, the 
fire fighters rested. Between them and the lake hung 
a grayish haze, set with blackened trunks. Beyond 
and on either side of this swath of ruin the fire still 
blazed and crackled. Fortunately the cabins, sit- 
uated to one side of the mill, had escaped destruction. 
For the first time the boys became aware that some 
of the townspeople were standing in the edge of the 
clearing and watching them silently. 

Doggett rose from the ground, on which he had 
thrown himself, exhausted. 

“Might as well start in again now,” he observed. 
“Here comes help!” 

Ireson, Parsons, Maliber, and Benoit burst into the 
clearing, breathless and excited. Evidently they had 
run a long distance. At the sight of the ruins they 
gave vent to exclamations of regret. 

“What could have started it?” queried Parsons. 
“There wasn’t a whiff coming out of the stack when 
we left this noon.” 

Doggett shrugged his shoulders. 

“I’m not so much interested in knowing what 
started it as I am in putting it out,” he replied. 
“Go up to Josh Kimball’s and get his horse and 
plow. His family’s away for the afternoon, but 
borrowing’s all right in a case like this. We’ll 
235 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

draw furrows where the pines are open enough, 
to stop the fire from running along the ground. 
’Twon’t do for it to spread any further.” 

Budge, Jim, and the rest of the crew threw them- 
selves zealously into the task of checking the con- 
flagration and some of the spectators rendered them 
grudging assistance; but it was far into the night be- 
fore the flames were completely under control. 

At five that afternoon Legore and Grannitt, return- 
ing in an open wagon from a farm auction in the 
neighboring town of Stowe, reached the top of a hill 
that afforded them a wide view of Barham. A cloud 
of smoke overhanging the woods near Lake Agawam 
caught the lawyer’s attention. 

“Hulloo!” he exclaimed. “There’s a fire!” 

Legore looked, but manifested no surprise. 

“Yes,” he remarked. “It’s on the Peavey lot.” 

The certainty of his tone startled Grannitt; he 
gave his companion a sharp glance. 

“How do you know?” 

The lumberman did not turn a hair. 

“I’ve got good eyes,” he responded, coolly. “What 
d’you think o’ that pair o’ steers I bought at the 
auction?” 

No further comments upon the conflagration passed 
between them; but Grannitt’s cigar wabbled un- 
steadily in his mouth and his hands trembled. 
Legore, noting these signs of mental unrest, grinned 
contemptuously and spat over the wheel. 

236 


XVII 


DOWN BUT NOT OUT 

F^vAYLIGHT was not far distant when the fire 
fighters on the Peavey lot felt it safe to relax 
their efforts. Engrossed in the battle that had kept 
their nerves on edge for hours, their eyes dulled by 
smoke and dazzled by constant staring at the many- 
colored flames, they had not noticed that the stars 
had grown dimmer and dimmer and had at last been 
completely hidden by thick black clouds. The 
strong wind of the previous afternoon had blown up 
a storm. 

Doggett was the first to observe the change in the 
weather. As he looked up, a drop of water struck 
him in the face, working an instant and marvelous 
change in his reserved, saturnine disposition. 

“ Hurrah, boys!” he yelled, capering and swinging 
his arms. “Rain! Rain! Rain!” 

Cries of joy answered him. Throppy had almost 
reached the limit cf his newly regained strength, and 
Percy was not much better off. Even Budge and Jim, 
who had drawn freely on their reserves of energy and 
endurance in the long battle, had no great surplus left. 
Jim opened his heart to Ireson, who was near him. 

237 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

“I’ve been on the water a good many times when 
Fd have given almost anything for pleasant weather; 
but I’ve never been a tenth as glad to have it clear up 
as I am now to see it rain.” 

The infrequent drops became more frequent; they 
grew to a steady patter, which soon developed into 
a brisk shower; and this ere long increased to a 
drenching downpour. Doggett called his hosts 
together. 

“It’s all over but the shouting, boys,” he wheezed, 
hoarsely. “And I’ve swallowed so much smoke that 
I don’t feel as if I could make any more noise than a 
grasshopper. So we’ll cut out the celebration and 
get back to camp.” 

“Want to set sentinels?” asked Budge. 

“Sentinels? What for? In ten minutes it ’ll be 
coming down hard enough to drown out a bonfire of 
pitch-pine knots. Let’s make for our cabins as fast 
as we can, and be thankful we’ve got good, dry bunks 
to crawl into.” 

No further urging was necessary. Heads bowed, 
knees shaking, bodies limp from weariness, the boys 
stumbled back to their little settlement near the 
clearing. The distance was only a few score yards, 
but it seemed miles to their leaden feet and aching 
joints. Finally they staggered up to their cabin, 
pushed open the door, and fell inside. 

Momentarily forgetful of the source whence their 
electricity was derived, Jim tried to snap on the 
light; but the bulb did not yield the faintest glimmer. 

238 


DOWN BUT NOT OUT 


The steam whose power would have illumined the 
cabin had been whistled away the afternoon before, 
'and the unsheltered, rain-beaten boiler in the black- 
ness outside was rapidly cooling olF. Jim fumbled 
along the shelf until he found and lighted the lamp. 

“ Let’s wash up and turn in,” said he. 

Utterly weary in body and mind, the four, one 
after another, bathed their blackened hands and 
faces and threw themselves upon their bunks, too 
much exhausted to take the trouble of undressing. 

The forenoon was well advanced before they woke, 
almost as stiff and weary as before their few hours of 
fitful, unsatisfying slumber. A heavy rain was fall- 
ing steadily from the low, gray clouds, and the whole 
atmosphere, both physical and mental, was somber 
and depressing. 

Jim, the first one up, started to prepare a light 
breakfast. The others watched him languidly with- 
out proffering assistance. Even Percy was in the 
dumps. Budge was crushed and disheartened; there 
were dark rings round his eyes and his face wore a 
listless expression. To him the disaster evidently 
spelled the ruin of their summer’s hopes. 

The meal of bacon, corn bread, and coffee was soon 
disposed of. Nobody had any appetite. 

“Now,” proposed Jim, with an effort at liveliness, 
“let’s go out and take account of stock.” 

“What’s the use?” said Budge. “I can see all I 
want to from the window. It was Pike’s Peak or 
bust; and we’ve busted.” 

239 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

“Not quite so bad as that, I guess,” returned his 
mate. “We’ve a few things left that haven’t gone 
up in smoke. It’s up to us to collect the pieces and 
glue ’em together again.” 

“I’m afraid it can’t be done,” replied Budge. 

But he put on his mackintosh and went out with 
the others. 

The prospect could not well have been more dismal. 
A constant drizzle was seeping down through the 
dripping pine boughs. Only the stack, the boiler, and 
the engine, and the stumps of a half dozen posts 
rose stark and black above the ruins marking the 
site of the mill, which still smoked sullenly. The 
smell of burnt wood permeated the damp air. The 
ground beside the boiler was a trampled slough of 
sticky mud. Instead of the tall, green forest that 
had extended down to Lake Agawam was an open 
stretch, rough with knolls, and bristling with charred 
trunks. 

Few words were spoken as the boys surveyed this 
scene of desolation. It was a despondent, discour- 
aged group that returned to their cabin. Every- 
body’s spirits were at the lowest ebb; they avoided 
one another’s eyes. Even Jim was blue and sober. 

Budge broke the oppressive silence. 

“Might as well face the music and have it over 
with ! Guess ’twon’t take very long. It looks to me 
as if the thing was already settled for us.” 

“I’m not putting my hands up yet,” said Jim. 
“The matter may not be so bad as it seems. Let’s 
240 


DOWN BUT NOT OUT 


call ’Gene in! We’ll want all the advice we can get 
before we come to a conclusion.” 

“Call him if you want to,” consented his chum. 
“But it won’t do any good. All the advice in the 
world can’t pull us out of this scrape and put us on 
our feet again. What’s the use of beating round the 
bush! We’re through, and we all know it.” 

Jim’s jaw set doggedly. 

“I’ve wrestled enough,” he returned, “to know 
that a man isn’t beaten till both his shoulders are 
down on the mat. You remember that I wasn’t over 
and above anxious to take hold of this proposition; 
but, now that I’m in it, I intend to stick till the last 
gun’s fired. Call ’Gene, will you, Perce?” 

Percy stepped out into the rain, and soon came 
back with the marker. Doggett appeared but little 
more cheerful than the boys. 

“’Gene,” began Jim, “we’re holding a council to 
decide what we’d better do, and we’ll be glad of any 
advice you can give us. In the first place we want to 
canvass the whole affair from the bottom up and see 
just where we stand. How do you think this blaze 
started?” 

A frown creased Doggett’s brow. He hesitated 
before speaking. 

“I don’t see how it possibly could have caught from 
the mill. The fire was banked in good shape after 
we shut down yesterday noon; I took particular 
notice of that. So no sparks could have come out of 
the stack.” 


241 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

“That’s what I think,” said Jim. “When we 
started for the mountain everything about here was 
absolutely safe. Besides, Mr. Merrithew told me 
that when he got to the plant, after he first smelled 
smoke, the flames were in the brush to windward. 
That shows it was no carelessness on our part. 
Somebody else is to blame.” 

“That’s sure,” agreed Doggett. “I’ve known fires 
in the woods to catch from burning gun wads and 
from matches men have thrown down after lighting 
their pipes.” 

“There were no gunners about here yesterday,” 
observed Jim. “If there had been we’d have heard 
’em. It simmers down to the man with the match. 
And the question is who he could have been, and 
whether or not he dropped it on purpose.” 

He cast a glance about the group. What he saw 
on their faces told him that it was unnecessary to 
proceed further along that line. Everybody’s 
thoughts had turned to the same man — McAuliffe! 

“Well, whoever did it, or why,” continued Spur- 
ling, “the mischief’s done. It’s easy to see now that 
we oughtn’t to have gone off without leaving a guard. 
Next time we’d know better. We’ve one thing to be 
thankful for — the fire has been confined to the Peavey 
lot. We’ll be the only losers.” 

Budge’s melancholy face showed that this thought 
afforded him small consolation. Jim looked at the 
marker. 

“’Gene, you’ve had to do with portable mills since 
242 


DOWN BUT NOT OUT 


you were a boy. Tell us how much we can salvage 
from this wreck and what it ’ll cost to put the plant 
back into shape.” 

Doggett’s brow was corrugated with thought. A 
minute of silence elapsed ere he spoke slowly. 

“The stack and the boiler aren’t hurt at all. The 
engine’s damaged some, but not very bad. The 
saw’s spoiled. We’ll have to replace the roof and 
most of the other woodwork, and there’ll be need 
of a good deal of re-babbitting. But we’ve saved 
most of our belts and other movable stuff. Five 
hundred dollars ought to put us back in good running 
order.” 

Jim’s countenance lighted up. 

“That’s a good deal less than I thought it ’d be. 
Cheer up, boys! We’ll weather this gale, after all.” 

But Doggett’s statement dispelled little of the 
gloom on Budge’s face. 

“Five hundred dollars is a small part of what it ’d 
really cost us. It ’d be at least a month before we 
could be sawing again, and by that time the heart ’d 
be gone out of the summer. We’d be over a quarter 
of a million feet behind the amount I figured on. It 
hurts me to say it, and I hate to give up beat; but 
I’m afraid we’re through.” 

A stillness settled over the group in the cabin. 
Budge’s words seemed to pronounce the doom of the 
undertaking that had been launched with such 
bright hopes. 

Then Jim stood up. He looked out through the 

243 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

window over the blackened clearing at the ruined mill, 
stretched out his arms, and laughed. 

“Boys,” said he, “what’s the use of lying down? 
If we should give up now, we’d be in worse shape than 
we were before we started. We shouldn’t break 
even; we’d be hundreds of dollars in the hole. 
Things look bad. They can’t be any worse, so 
they’re bound to improve; they can’t help it. We’ve 
struck bottom and from now on we’re going the other 
way; it’s only a question of how fast. If we weather 
this we can weather anything; and we can do it. 
There’s something in us bigger than any fire. No 
setback’s ever quite so bad as it seems to be at first. 
All we need to put us back on our feet is to keep on 
doing one little thing after another. There’s only 
one fatal mistake a man can make, and that is to lie 
down and quit. If we give up now, like whipped 
dogs, we’re beaten, and Legore and Grannitt ’ll have 
the laugh on us; and I’ve just enough ugliness in me 
not to give them that satisfaction. I don’t believe in 
taking a knock-down for a knock-out. I believe in 
fighting clean through to the end, bitter or sweet. 
We’ve got to decide whether to pull up or to pull out, 
to stick or not to stick. I say stick!” 

He ceased. The boys exchanged glances. Jim’s 
exhortation had been like a trumpet blast, rousing 
each one to do the best that was in him. Even 
Budge’s gloomy face had lighted up at his mate’s 
stirring speech. But the matter was too serious to be 
decided under the spur of any momentary enthusiasm. 
244 


DOWN BUT NOT OUT 

“Fellows,” said Budge, after an interval of silence, 
“every one of us knows what the situation is. There’s 
no use in talking it over any more. We’ve got to 
make our minds up right away either to repair the 
mill and stay here till the end of the summer, or to 
clean up and get out. I propose that we think the 
matter ove*, each one by himself, and that we then 
take a secret ballot. What do you say?” 

The others assented. For five minutes nobody 
spoke. At the end of that period Budge passed 
around blank slips for the vote. 

“‘Yes’ means that we stay;' ‘no/ that we go. 
You’re the ballot clerk, ’Gene!” 

Soberly, realizing all that was at stake, the boys 
recorded their choice, folded the slips, and passed 
them to Doggett. The vote was unanimously for 
sticking. Jim’s grit had carried the day. 

The great question once decided, the tension easeu 
up. Doggett registered his hearty approval of their 
decision. 

“I’m mighty glad you’ve decided to hold on, 
boys. I feel sure we can get this plant back into 
shape in time to turn out a good summer’s work. 
You won’t make quite so much money as you 
would have made if there hadn’t been any fire, 
but you’ll a good deal more than come out whole. 
This blaze has eaten up all the loose stuff round 
the mill, so that nobody can burn you out again. 
Besides, I’d have hated to see you knuckle under 
to that pair of crooks.” 

17 


245 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

“How long will it be before we can start sawing ?” 
asked Budge. 

“Two weeks, if we don’t waste any time, and 
everybody is willing to work his hardest. We ought 
to get running as soon as we can, for the logs will 
stain, this hot weather. But it ’ll mean longer days 
than we’ve been making.” 

“What’s nine hours?” said Jim. “I’ll be glad to 
put in half as many more for the sake of getting back 
on our feet. I haven’t really begun to work yet.” 

The others voiced a spirit equally determined. 
Outside, it was raining as hard as ever, but the deci- 
sion they had reached seemed to brighten the somber 
atmosphere under the pines. Even the ruined mill 
and the swart desolation stretching toward the lake 
took on a more hopeful aspect. 

Legore was right in saying that nothing happened 
on the Peavey lot without his knowledge. That very 
afternoon he was made acquainted with the boys’ 
decision to rebuild, and that evening in Grannitt’s 
office he expressed his opinion of their foolishness in 
language more vigorous than choice. 

“Them fellers haven’t brains enough to know when 
tney’re beat,” he declared, indignantly. 

The lawyer sank his voice almost to a whisper. 

“Your trumps don’t seem to work much better 
than mine, Ches,” he remarked. 

“You wait,” said Legore. 


XVIII 


JIM BESTS LEGORE 



NCE the boys had reached a definite decision to 


stand by their guns, their prospects did not 
appear half so gloomy. Jim’s spirits proved con- 
tagious, and they turned to the task of planning for 
the future with an ardor that even the beating rain 
and the charred wreck beyond the boiler could not 


damp. 


“We’ll soon have that old stack smoking again!” 
exclaimed Doggett. 

“I’ll run up to Kimball’s and call father on the 
long-distance ’phone,” said Budge. “He ought to 
know about this right away.” 

As he stepped out into the downpour he actually 
broke into a whistle. His friends glanced at one 
another and smiled. 

“He’s got over the blues and he’s coming back 
strong,” observed Jim. “From now on there won’t 
be one of us who’ll work any harder or put more 
ginger into his job. All he needed was something 
to start him.” 

It was useless to attempt to do much outside until 
the rain stopped; but during the remainder of the day 


247 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

the boys were by no means idle. Aided by Doggett, 
they made a list, down to the last nail, of everything 
that would be needed to put the plant back into 
first-class shape. Letters were written and posted; 
new parts were engaged at the hardware store at 
Parcherville; and a rush order for another saw was 
telegraphed to the manufacturers. 

By night the clouds had rained themselves out and 
there was a fiery-red sunset. 

“That promises a fair day to-morrow,” prophesied 
the marker. “We’ll need it and a good many more. 
From now to the end of the season, every hour this 
plant is idle means a dead loss of just so many 
dollars.” 

They turned in eany and slept like the dead. 
When they woke at a late hour the next morning, the 
blackened clearing was flooded with sunlight; the 
sky was blue; and the birds were singing as if a 
forest fire were an unheard of thing. 

Under the direction of Doggett the entire force 
began clearing away the ruins. It was a smutty, 
disagreeable job; but fifteen pairs of hands made 
quick, if not very light, work. By noon the founda- 
tion of the mill was tolerably free from debris, and 
pails and shovels were busily engaged in removing 
the dirt that had checked the fire. GrafF and Ireson 
were particularly active. 

An auto honked. Down the wood road came a 
car with five men, among them Mr. Lane, and, to the 
great surprise and joy of the boys, Otis Briggs. 

248 


JIM BESTS LEGORE 

“ Straight from home/’ said Budge’s father. 
“ Started early this morning, and got here as quick as 
the muddy roads would let us. Well, you are in a 
mess, sure enough!” 

He surveyed the bare foundation, the shelterless 
machinery, and the pile of half-burned boards beside 
the boiler. 

“Still, you’ve made good headway clearing up. 
I’m glad you’ve decided to keep on. If you stopped, 
Legore’d have a chance to crow over you, and me, 
too; and I shouldn’t like that. Guess you’d better 
let me and the other owners help make your loss 
good. We’ll be perfectly willing.” 

“No,” declined his son. “We’re much obliged; 
but we’ve talked it over and have decided to shoulder 
everything ourselves. We can do it. Of course we’ll 
be obliged for any advice you can give us, and we’ll 
be more than pleased to have you take hold and help 
put the mill back into shape; but we’re going to pay 
for every stroke of work you do. That’s flat!” 

“Just as you feel about it! I like your grit. Some 
fellows would have given up after such a setback.” 

A faint red stole into Budge’s cheeks. 

“You can give Jim, here, the credit. I’ll have to 
be honest and say I was pretty near ready to throw 
up the sponge; but he wouldn’t listen to it.” 

“Well, that’s the spirit that wins,” approved his 
father. 

The boys and Doggett gave Briggs a warm greet- 
ing. 


249 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

“I’m fit as a fiddle,” declared the sawyer. “But 
I expect Jim is handling the levers so well that you 
won’t want me any more.” 

“Jim has been doing fine,” said Budge, “and I 
don’t know how we’d have run the business if you 
hadn’t taught him to saw; but we can use you, and 
another man like you, if we could only get him. 
After this mill is started again we’ll have to make 
long hours, to catch up with our schedule. Don’t 
you worry about throwing Jim out of a job! I’ll 
guarantee his muscles won’t grow flabby for want' of 
exercise.” 

For the next few days the clearing was a lively 
place. Thanks to careful planning and abundant 
labor, everything went like clockwork. Plenty of 
lumber of all sorts was at hand, and the hardware 
company’s truck brought other necessary things from 
Parcherville on short notice. The new saw arrived 
on schedule time. In less than two weeks the mill 
stood complete again, fully as good as before, if 
indeed not better. 

On the evening after the work was finished, Mr. 
Lane sat with the boys in their cabin. Throppy had 
filled the firebox of the boiler, and all was ready for 
steaming up the next morning. 

“This fire and the shut-downs we’ve had before 
have set us back over a hundred and fifty thousand 
feet,” said Budge. “No matter how fast we work, 
we can’t hope to make that up before the end of the 
season; but we’ll put in all the extra time we can. 

250 


JIM BESTS LEGORE 

You can bank on one thing — this mill will never be 
left alone again.” 

“What hits us a little hard,” he continued, “is the 
burning of that patch between here and the lake. It 
had some of the biggest pines on the whole lot, and 
they were within easy hauling distance. We can 
save a good many of ’em by sawing ’em at once; but 
the most are burned so bad that they won’t make 
lumber. I’d counted on holding ’em till the last, but 
the fire’s got ahead of me.” 

“That reminds me!” exclaimed Throppy. “Mr. 
Merrithew told me this afternoon that he had a 
proposition to make, whenever you were ready to 
listen to it.” 

“I’ll be glad to hear it now, if he cares to come 
over,” said Budge. 

Throppy went out, and soon returned with the 
hermit. 

“I understand you have something you would like 
to say to us, Mr. Merrithew,” remarked the younger 
Lane. 

“Yes. I know this fire has robbed you of some of 
your best timber. How would you like to cut a 
couple of hundred thousand on my northeast 
corner?” 

Budge gasped. 

“Why, that’s the cream of your lot! I don’t 
believe there’s a finer patch of pine in the whole 
state.” 

“If there is, I don’t know where. It’s the first 

251 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

time in my life I ever broke my word. I said 
that none of these trees should be cut while I 
was alive, but I’m going to give you boys a 
chance at ’em. I like your spirit and I haven’t 
forgotten what you did for me a few weeks ago. 
Besides, this fire has opened my eyes. I’d rather 
those pines should be cut than have them rot or 
be burned.” 

Merrithew’s proposal, so utterly unexpected, 
almost took the boys’ breath away. All were deeply 
touched by the hermit’s kindness, for they realized 
the affection he felt for his trees. Budge was at a 
loss for a proper reply. The recluse misunderstood 
his hesitation. 

“Perhaps you don t want ’em,” and there was 
actually a touch of disappointment in his voice. 

Budge hastened to reassure him. 

“Want ’em? Of course we do! We’re only too 
glad of the chance; and I don’t know how we can 
ever thank you. We’ll pay whatever stumpage 
seems right to you.” 

“You can have ’em on the same terms you’ve made 
with your father and the others. So that’s all settled. 
Now I’ve a piece of news you won’t like. We’re 
going to have an uncomfortable neighbor. Zack 
Brewster has sold the lot south of this to Chesley 
Lego re!” 

The boys were both surprised and disgusted at the 
unwelcome tidings. 

“How long ago?” asked Budge. 

252 


JIM BESTS LEGORE 

“Only yesterday. The two of them were running 
out the bounds in the forenoon.” 

Budge made a grimace. 

“Well, I don’t see any help for it. What can’t be 
cured must be endured. It’s a case of our keeping 
on our own side of the line and he keeping on his. 
I don’t believe he can hurt us any worse than he has 
already.” 

The mill started again the next morning. Jim 
insisted that Briggs resume his former position, and, 
though the sawyer demurred, he could not help show- 
ing his pleasure at once more grasping the familiar 
levers. Jim took an ax and started up one of the 
scoot roads. 

“I can find enough to do on the lot to keep me out 
of mischief the next few weeks. First, I’m going to 
have Joe teach me to chop and to pull one handle of 
a cross-cut saw.” 

Only waiting to see the first log turned into boards, 
Mr. Lane and his three men started for the Four 
Comers, where they planned to take the stage for the 
railroad station at Eaginton. Percy drove them over 
to Holway & Benner’s, and returned to the mill in the 
car, which it had been decided should be left for the 
boys to use. 

That first day they ran the plant until six o’clock, 
and sawed thirteen thousand. Jim put his strength 
and skill where they would do the most good, lend- 
ing a hand first in one place, then in another. He 
chopped, he sawed, he helped load and unload 
253 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

scoots, he handled logs on the brow and boards in the 
pit, and did all sorts of odd jobs. 

On the second morning Budge suggested that he go 
along the southern edge of the lot to see if Brewster 
and Lego re had run their line correctly. 

“I don’t trust ’em,” said Lane. “Legore ’ll gouge 
us all he can, and Brewster ’ll back him. Better 
take that plan father brought and see if it corres- 
ponds with their bounds. I’ll bet my hat you’ll find 
a big difference.” 

Ten minutes brought Jim to the southern edge of 
the Peavey lot. A succession of ax-cuts, freshly 
blazed on the pines, spoke eloquently of the recent 
survey. O'pening his map, he began to compare it 
with the new line. A very slight examination was suf- 
ficient to convince him that the latter was glaringly 
incorrect. 

“Just what you might expect,” thought he. 
“Legore’s at least two rods over on us.” 

A footstep on the needles. Jim raised his head 
and saw Hard Cash himself! 

Engrossed in his examination of the line, the boy 
had not been conscious of the lumberman’s stealthy 
approach. The latter’s features wore a look of 
malevolent triumph; evidently he felt that the 
moment he had been anticipating had arrived. As 
he noted the plan that Jim had been consulting he 
scowled ferociously. 

“What ’re you spyin’ round here for?” he growled. 
“Lookin’ for trouble, hey? Well, you won’t hev to 
254 


JIM BESTS LEGORE 

look very hard or very long. What ’re you doin’ on 
my land, anyway? Get ofF’n it as quick as y’r feet 
’ll take ye!” 

Jim laid down the map and straightened up. It 
did not require much of a prophet to foretell what was 
coming. Legore’s aggressive, insulting manner was 
easy to interpret — he felt that he had his enemy in 
his power and he proposed to wreak vengeance upon 
him. Spurling realized that the only thing that 
lay between him and a brutal thrashing was the 
power within himself. His muscles hardened and 
he became alert and watchful. Outwardly, how- 
ever, his bearing was unchanged, and there was no 
tremor in his voice as he replied. 

“When you say I’m on your land, I think you’re 
mistaken, Mr. Lego re,” he answered, evenly. “Ac- 
cording to this map your line is too far north by more 
than thirty feet; so we’re both standing on the 
Peavey lot.” 

Hard Cash let himself go. The blood flooded 
through his arteries till his face assumed a purplish 
tinge; his eyes strained from their sockets; his 
voice rose to a bellow. 

“Don’t you dare to sass me, you young sprout!” 
he roared. “Remember what I said about gettin’ 
square with ye some day? Wal, the time has come. 
I always Agger on payin’ up my debts in full with 
interest, an’ you’ve got more than six per cent cornin’ 
to ye. No half-baked college feller can make the 
talk to me that you made an’ get away with it! 

255 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

Now Fve got ye just where I want ye, alone without 
the rest o’ your gang, an’ I’m goin’ to lick ye good. 
I’ll give ye a hidin’ that you’ll remember all your life. 
Better pull off that sweater if you don’t want it 
mussed up!” 

He took a threatening step forward. Jim’s arms 
grew rigid as iron bars and he set his feet firmly, yet 
springily. Words, he knew, were useless; so he 
wasted none. Legore intended to do precisely as he 
had said. Jim saw but one way of averting the con- 
flict, and that was by flight. Younger and fleeter of 
foot, he could easily have outstripped his bulky 
antagonist; but it was not in him to purchase safety 
at such a price. He did not underrate his adversary. 
Legore was unscrupulous and physically powerful; 
anger had doubled his strength, and he would stop 
at nothing to win. If Jim were beaten the older man 
would not hesitate to pound him to a pulp. Yet, 
though knowing this, the boy held his ground. 

For a moment the two stood face to face, taking 
each other’s measure. Only the shriek of the saw, 
rising shrilly and then dying away, broke the silence. 
Of the pair Jim was somewhat taller, but the lumber- 
man was much heavier and more solidly built. 
Despite the fact that some of his bulk was fat, his 
combined weight and strength made him a most 
formidable antagonist, particularly dangerous in a 
rough-and-tumble fight. Though his age and the 
lack of vigorous physical exercise during the past few 
years had slowed him down a trifle, past experience 
256 



“i’ll give ye a hidin’ that you’ll remember all \our life 















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JIM BESTS LEGORE 

and the youth of his opponent seemed to assure him 
of victory. Jim, lighter, quicker on his feet, and 
without an ounce of superfluous fat, brought to the 
fray the skill of the trained athlete, reinforced by the 
consciousness that he was in the right. 

Without warning, Legore suddenly rushed in and 
tried to grip his foe in a bear’s hug. Jim evaded 
his attempt by stepping aside at just the right second. 
Legore shot by, grasping wildly at the empty air, 
tried to turn, and went sprawling. He was up in a 
moment, furious at his failure. Whirling about, he 
came at Jim again, but the latter simply sidestepped 
him. 

Rush after rush was equally futile. The lumber- 
man foamed with rage; he felt that the boy was 
laughing at him. 

“If ever I git my hands on ye,” he muttered. 

Unexpectedly his chance came. Jim had shunned 
the other’s attacks so easily that he grew a trifle care- 
less, and Legore noticed it. Cunningly feigning a 
wild onslaught, he arrested himself suddenly, sprang 
sidewise with an agility hardly to be looked for in so 
heavy a man, and caught Jim around the waist in an 
iron grip. 

The boy, taken by surprise, had just time to raise 
his arms before his enemy clinched him. 

“Now I’ve got ye,” snarled Legore, “an’ I’m goin’ 
to break ye in two!” 

Exerting all his great strength, he strove to bend 
Jim backward. He had the under hold, a thing that an 
257 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

inexperienced wrestler would consider an advantage; 
and such it would prove unless immediately counter- 
acted. Five seconds wasted by the lad would decide 
the battle against him. But his training in the col- 
lege gymnasium had made him a skilled wrestler, 
and his brain and muscles had been so coordinated 
that they acted together. The instant he felt the 
grip around him tighten he made use of the strangle 
hold. Pressing his left hand into the small of 
Legore’s back and thrusting his right forearm directly 
across the latter’s windpipe, he pulled with his left 
and pushed with his right. Even the doughty lum- 
berman could not withstand the sudden strain. He 
went over backward and Jim fell on top of him. 

For two or three minutes a mighty struggle, noise- 
less save for Legore’s labored breathing, took place 
under the pines. Mad with rage at his defeat, the 
lumberman heaved and tossed, trying to throw off 
his foe; but Jim held his advantage, sticking like a 
leech. On a sudden Legore ceased his unavailing 
efforts. 

“I’ve had enough,” he said quietly. “Let me 
up!” 

Unsuspicious of treachery, Jim relaxed his hold 
and rose to his feet. His antagonist stood up and 
stretched himself. Then, without giving the slight- 
est sign of his intention, he leaped like a panther on 
the amazed boy. 

The attack caught Jim completely off his guard, 
and for an instant it seemed likely to accomplish its 
258 


JIM BESTS LEGORE 

purpose. The lumberman’s outstretched arms were 
closing round his enemy when the latter, recovering 
from his tremendous surprise, sprang back, barely 
eluding the clutching fingers. Legore’s cry of baffled 
wrath changed to an enraged bellow as Jim’s hard 
fist, swung like lightning, caught him squarely under 
the right eye. 

Spurling’s temper was now thoroughly aroused; he 
had never been so angry in his life. The treacherous 
trick which had so nearly won the victory for his foe 
had raised the lad’s passions to white heat. Only his 
anger, instead of causing him to lose his head, as was 
the case with Legore, rendered him calmer and doubly 
dangerous. 

It was a fight to a finish, and the quicker that 
finish could come the better. 

Again Legore leaped like a wild animal. This 
time Jim awaited his onset. He had learned at col- 
lege some of the principles of jiu-jutsu, or Japanese 
wrestling, and had familiarized himself with certain 
of its holds and throws. He would never have 
dreamed of employing these against an ordinary 
antagonist; but Legore’s dirty trick prevented the 
lad from feeling any scruples about using all his skill 
to win. He stood alert, his nerves steady, his mus- 
cles like iron. 

The lumberman’s frantically swinging arms clutched 
at their prey. Out darted Jim’s hands; each reached 
and gripped its mark. He turned quickly and 
arched his body. There was a volley of oaths, 
259 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

a muffled yell of surprise and anger from Legore. 
His feet were twitched from the ground and his 
heavy bulk was flung through the air over Jim’s 
shoulders. His head crashed against a pine and he 
dropped sprawling in a loose, insensible heap on the 
mounded needles! 


XIX 


HANDS UP 


TJ ARDL Y able to realize th at the fight th at h ad been 
* * forced upon him was so soon and so decisively 
over, Jim stood gazing at the crumpled figure of his 
late antagonist. Just as the fear was beginning to 
creep into his mind that Legore had been seriously 
injured by striking his head against the rough trunk, 
the insensible man began to revive; he stirred, mut- 
tered, half rose, and then fell back. As Jim bent 
over to render what assistance he could, the lumber- 
man’s eyes opened and gazed at him uncomprehend- 
ingly. A moment later their blank look was replaced 
by such a glare of hatred that the boy straightened 
up and ceased his attempts to bring aid that he knew 
would prove unwelcome. 

“Can I do anything for you?” he asked, more as a 
matter of form than with any idea that his offer 
would be accepted. 

Legore ground out an oath between his teeth. 

“Yes,” he growled, “get out of my sight!” 

Realizing the folly of any further proffers, Jim 
stepped back a few feet. The lumberman rose, slowly 
and painfully. The blood was oozing from his 
18 261 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

cheek, where it had scraped against the bark of the 
tree, and his right eye was almost closed by the puffy, 
bluish bruise that had been raised by the lad’s fist. 

For a little while he leaned unsteadily against a 
neighboring trunk. Then, as his head cleared and 
his footing became more assured, he staggered off 
through the pines. But before he went he cast a 
single look at Jim. 

“ Don’t you worry! You’ll git what’s cornin’ to 
you!” he hissed. 

Soon he was hidden by the intervening forest. 
When he had disappeared, Jim turned and made his 
way slowly back toward the mill. His pulse was 
beating rapidly and he was conscious of the reaction 
from the nervous strain that he had been under; 
otherwise he felt no particular results from his 
encounter with the lumberman. Had it not been 
for his previous training, however, £he battle would 
have terminated far differently. 

It was not until that evening, when he was alone 
with his chums in their cabin, that Jim mentioned 
his meeting with Legore. The others listened to his 
story with astonishment. 

“It’s war from now out, and no mistake,” said 
Budge. 

“He’s been fighting us all summer,” observed 
Percy. “How can he do anything worse?” 

“I don’t see, myself, how he can; only after this 
he’ll be in it not so much for money as for revenge. 
It’s a personal matter with him now, and he won’t 
262 


HANDS UP 

stop at anything. We’ll all have to watch out, and 
Jim particularly.” 

“Has anybody seen McAuliffe lately?” inquired 
Throppy. 

“I’ve set eyes on him two or three times at Holway 
& Benner’s,” replied Budge. “But he always tries 
to keep out of my way. I understand he’s working 
again on his father’s farm. It was a lucky day when 
we got rid of him.” 

“It ’d have been luckier if we’d never hired him at 
all,” said Percy; and the others agreed with him. 

It was a clear, cool Thursday night in early Septem- 
ber. For an hour the boys discussed various matters 
connected with their business. Budge was to make 
his usual trip to Parcherville the next afternoon for 
money to meet the weekly pay roll; and two or three 
commissions were intrusted to him. 

“I’m sleepy,” yawned Jim at last. “Let’s go to 
bed!” 

Throppy glanced through the window. A fiery 
point of light drew a long trail downward from the 
zenith and disappeared behind the wall of pines. 

“There’s a shooting star!” he exclaimed. “Come 
on outside and take a look at the sky!” 

He stepped quickly to the door, and the others fol- 
lowed. As they emerged from the cabin they heard 
a noise in the brush behind it. 

“Who’s there?” demanded Budge. 

No voice replied, but the noise was repeated. As 
Budge stepped round the corner to investigate, a 
263 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

dark figure darted silently away among the trees. 
Young Lane felt somewhat disturbed as he rejoined 
his companions. 

“ Somebody’s been listening to our talk/’ he said. 
“Who do you suppose it was? It couldn’t have been 
Legore, for he could never have run off so fast. If 
’twas McAuliffe, he’s a long way from home and he 
must hate us pretty bad to put himself to so much 
trouble. Well, whoever it is, he knows we’ve seen 
him and he won’t dare to come back again to-night. 
But, as I’ve said before, we’ve got to watch out.” 

Although there was a magnificent shower of 
meteors, the detection of the eavesdropper killed the 
boys’ interest in shooting stars, and they soon went 
back into the cabin. Further speculation as to the 
identity of the spy was useless, so they wasted no 
more time on the topic; but all felt uneasy and it 
was late before they dropped off to sleep. 

Nothing happened in the night to rouse them, and 
morning found them as much at sea as before as to 
the name and purpose of their unknown visitor. In 
dismissing the matter, Jim expressed the common 
opinion of all. 

“Well, whoever he may have been, I can’t see that 
what he heard can either help him or hurt us.” 

After dinner Budge started on his motor cycle for 
Parcherville. Nothing out of the common occurred 
on his trip to town, and he reached the bank at about 
half past two. There Lawton met him, as usual, in 
accordance with their arrangement, made necessary 
264 


HANDS UP 


by the institution’s refusal to do business with a 
minor. Five hundred dollars in bills and silver was 
drawn by the attorney from his agent’s account and 
turned over to Budge, who deposited the sum in a 
stout canvas bag with a draw-string and put it into 
the inside pocket of his coat. 

A dark-complexioned individual in a slouch hat 
and a shabby black suit, who was standing close 
behind Lawton and his client, watched the transfer 
of the funds with great interest. 

“Next!” said the teller. 

The stranger pushed a greasy check under the 
grill. 

“Payable to John Grabo,” remarked the bank 
man. “Are you John Grabo?” 

“Yah!” 

“Well, you’ll have to get somebody I know to 
identify you. I can’t pay you ten dollars until I’m 
sure that this is your name.” 

“But I be John Grabo!” 

“Yes, I hear you say so. But we can’t take any 
chances. If you want your money, bring in some- 
body that I know who knows you. There’s no other 
way for you to get that check cashed here.” 

The man withdrew, muttering; but Budge was 
aware that the keen black eyes were following him 
and Lawton as they crossed the street to the lawyer’s 
office. 

The next three hours were busy ones for young 
Lane. Much of that time he spent with his attorney, 
265 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

discussing at considerable length the sale of a certain 
lot of boards. Errands for himself and his friends 
also took longer than usual. Hence six o’clock was 
not far distant when he spun out of Parcherville on 
his motor cycle, bound for Barham. 

Black clouds, rolling up in the west, foretold the 
approach of a heavy thunderstorm. Budge was in a 
hurry. He did not want to get wet. Besides, he 
remembered the five hundred dollars in his pocket 
and he did not like to be out late on a lonely road with 
so large a sum of money. John Grabo’s slouching 
figure and avaricious eyes forced themselves on the 
boy’s memory as he drove his machine forward at 
high speed. 

Two miles out of town he struck a long stretch of 
sand. Spurred by the thought of the coming storm, 
he pushed on as fast as he could, but his progress was 
provokingly slow. At quarter to seven he had cov- 
ered barely half the distance. Then, to add the last 
straw, in the middle of a patch of woods his engine 
began skipping. 

The sky frowned inky black and already the 
thunder was muttering. A few hundred yards ahead 
was a farmhouse, the last before a long stretch of 
forest and pasture extending clear to the mill road. 
Three courses were open to the boy: he might re- 
main at this house until the storm blew over; he 
might leave his wheel there and push ahead on foot; 
or he might keep on, trusting that his crippled 
machine would at last bring him to the Peavey lot. 

266 


HANDS UP 


During the five minutes that it took him to reach 
the farmhouse Budge debated as to what he had 
better do. The wheel decided the question for him. 
He shot past the homestead at a thirty-mile clip, and 
flew down a long hill on the wings of the wind. And 
just as he thought his troubles were past, his engine 
took to skipping worse than ever! 

It was too late to turn back. Budge swallowed 
his disgust and limped on. Somehow and sometime 
he would reach the mill, although he would probably 
be drenched to the skin. Big drops of rain began to 
fall scatteringly; it would soon be black as midnight. 

He had been over the road so many times that he 
could have followed it blindfold, which was fortunate, 
for his lighting equipment was out of commission. 

Up a long hill; across an intervale; up another hill. 
The motor cycle crawled on haltingly; but still the 
rods slipped back behind it. Budge took heart. 
Ahead at the foot of this hill lay the pasture in which 
was the flooded quarry where the boys had taken 
many a swim. Only a mile farther to the mill! 

A crash of thunder, a blinding flash, and down 
came the rain in torrents. Shutting off his power 
and keeping his machine under control by means of 
the brake, Budge felt his way carefully down the hill. 
Ere he reached the bottom he was soaking wet. But 
every yard was bringing him nearer his friends and 
the warm, dry cabin. 

The foot at last! Budge opened the throttle and 
his wheel leaped forward. 

267 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

On a sudden a blaze of lightning made the land- 
scape bright as day. Ten yards before him a strange 
thing happened. A rope sprang up from the mud, 
where it had lain flat, and stretched straight across 
the road at a height of about thirty inches. Budge’s 
startled eyes instantly observed that it was tied round 
a spruce near the wall on the right, and that opposite 
on the left a man was working furiously to make the 
other end fast round a similar tree. 

And with a curious sinking of heart he noticed that 
this man wore a mask! 

Utter blackness again! Almost before tne boy had 
time to think, his wheel brought up with a tremen- 
dous shock, followed closely by a resonant twang. 
Budge was wrenched from his seat, and hurled for- 
ward. 

He alighted on his hands and knees in the mud, 
and slid and rolled confusedly several feet, coming 
to a stop in a bruised, bedraggled heap. 

He lay for a moment, in the rain and pitchy gloom, 
too much bewildered to move, trying to collect his 
thoughts. Somebody had stretched the rope across 
the road to hold him up. Who had done it, and w 7 hy ? 
His thoughts suddenly flashed back to the canvas bag 
in his pocket. Ah! the five hundred dollars. That 
was it. 

Somebody knew he had the money, and planned to 
rob him. John Grabo’s dark face and furtive eyes, 
seen in the bank that afternoon, rose before him. 
Yet how could a stranger tell in advance what road 
268 


HANDS UP 


to take and just where to lay his ambush ? No need 
of speculating about that now! The thing for Budge 
to do was to make his escape while it was dark. He 
started to rise. 

Too late! The flash of an electric lantern illumined 
the gloom. A grating footstep approached. A 
dazzling beam struck his face. 

“Hands up !” ordered a gruff, hoarse voice, evidently 
disguised. 

A revolver, strongly gripped by sun-browned fin- 
gers, was thrust forward into the light, its muzzle 
pointing straight at Budge’s head. His hands went 
up involuntarily. 

“Pass over that money!” 

The command stirred Budge to desperation. It 
was too much to lose. Couldn’t he save it in some 
way? He hesitated, while his brain tested and dis- 
missed one device after another. The robber grew 
impatient. 

“Hand it over! No fooling!” 

The revolver pushed forward until it was only a 
few inches from the boy’s head. The upper joint of 
the middle finger that curved round the butt was 
lacking. Where had he seen a hand like that? It 
dawned upon him in a flash with the shock of a 
tremendous surprise. And with the recognition 
came a sudden, desperate resolve that the money 
should not be stolen from him. 

Dropping his left hand toward his pocket, as if to 
withdraw the canvas bag, he knocked the revolver 
269 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

from the robber’s hand with a quick, strong blow. A 
second later, aided by a glare oflightning, he shot his 
right fist with all his might straight into the masked 
face of the would-be thief. 

Bang — the gun went off as it fell. The man top- 
pled backward and his mask slipped aside, making 
Budge certain of the identity of his assailant. His 
name burst involuntarily from the boy’s lips. Then 
all became dark again. 

Budge thought quickly. He must run while he 
had the chance. Unarmed, he was no match for his 
antagonist. The latter would soon recover his pis- 
tol, and, even if his electric lamp were broken, he 
could follow Budge by the frequent lightning flashes. 
It would be unsafe for the boy to flee along the open 
road; far better for him to take to the fields and 
woods! 

As the lightning blazed again he leaped the 
ditch on the left, crashed through a fringe of low 
bushes, and vaulted over the stone wall. Before him 
lay a rough pasture, broken by clumps of small trees. 
Ere he started running he cast a glance back. 

The robber had sprung to his feet, and the re- 
volver was in his hand. Even as Budge looked 
he fired. 

Crack! The bullet whistled by the fugitive’s head. 
Darkness once more. Bending low, the boy ran 
blindly with all his might. He plunged into a hollow 
between two knolls and went head over heels. 
When he regained his feet he found, to his dismay, 
270 


HANDS UP 


that his left ankle was sprained. He drove himself 
forward as fast as he could. 

Another flash. Crack-crack! Again the bullets 
whistled uncomfortably close. His pursuer was hot 
on his heels. Smarting at having been outwitted 
and rendered desperate by recognition, the man 
would stop at nothing. Budge realized that. In 
his crippled condition he could no longer hope to out- 
run the vindictive robber. What would happen 
when he was overtaken? 

Something of despair chilled his heart as he 
sprinted limpingly on through the darkness. The 
footsteps behind thudded louder and louder. Again 
the heavens blazed . \ 

Another shot ! A sharp pain seared the skin below 
his left armpit. The ball had grazed his side. The 
bandit intended to have that five hundred dollars. 
He was shooting to bring Budge down, dead or 
alive. 

Heedless of the stabbing pangs in his ankle, the boy 
spurted. What should he do? If he snatched the 
bag from his pocket and flung it down, would it 
satisfy his pursuer? But no, he would never do that. 
Not so long as he could run. 

As he leaped on in the darkness, his feet struck a 
ledge. A thrill darted through him at the touch of the 
rock. He knew where he was now, and a plan flashed 
into his head. It was his last resort; if it did not 
work, nothing else would. He was slowing down 
again and his enemy would soon be upon him; even 
271 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

now he caught a muttered exclamation of triumph; 
the bandit was very near. 

It grew bright as day. Whirling at right angles to 
his previous course, Budge ran along the ledge, on 
one side the pasture, on the other a screen of bushes. 
He glanced over his shoulder apprehensively, expect- 
ing another bullet; but his pursuer felt that there was 
no need of wasting any more lead. 

“I’ve got you now!” he laughed; and there was a 
hidden menace in his words. 

The pallid blaze that illumined the landscape was 
dying out, when suddenly Budge came to a dead 
standstill. Turning sharply to the left, he parted 
the bushes with his hands. A deep gulf yawned be- 
fore him. The robber realized his intention. 

“Stop, or PH fire!” he cried, raising his revolver. 

Pitchy blackness blotted out the landscape. 
Only ten feet behind the boy the pistol spat flame, as 
he hurled himself head foremost from the brink of the 
bluff, down, down, down into the inky chasm! 


XX 


THREE OF A KIND 


RANNITT was sitting in his office at nine o’clock 



that Friday night, busily engaged in looking up 
the law applicable to a line-fence dispute between 
Jarvis Maloney and Sid Thrasher. The misunder- 
standing between the two farmers could easily have 
been adjusted, had the attorney been willing to use 
his good offices in bringing the parties together. 
This, however, would have meant less business for 
him, and consequently a smaller fee; hence his ener- 
gies were devoted to skillfully, but unostentatiously, 
fanning the flames of discord. He had very satis- 
factory recollections of a similar case, where the pro- 
ceedings had been drawn out to such a length, and 
the legal expenses had been so heavy, that the matter 
had culminated in a mortgage to himself, by the fore- 
closure of which he had acquired an extremely desir- 
able piece of property. It was not too much to hope 
that the present difficulty might result in the same 
way; therefore his interest in the case was keen. 

Round the rickety building the storm raged 
furiously. Incessant thunderclaps shook the air; 
now and then a jagged lightning flash ripped the 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

pitchy gloom wide open; and all the while the rain 
descended in torrents. Even the dingy, dimly lighted 
office seemed a haven of peace and comfort, when 
compared with the tempest that rioted outside. Save 
for the electric flashes, Barham Four Corners was 
shrouded in blackness. There were no street lamps, 
and the people went to bed early; the few feeble rays 
that struggled from widely scattered windows served 
only to make the surrounding darkness doubly dismal. 

A heavy step sounded on the platform before 
Grannitt’s office. The attorney pricked up his ears. 
A client? Surely it must be a matter of pressing 
importance that would drive a man out in such a 
storm to seek legal advice. 

Clumsy feet stumbled up the creaking stairs and 
along the unlighted hall. The door flew open with- 
out any preliminary knock and Legore’s square, 
bulky figure entered the room. 

The lumberman’s face was partly concealed by his 
dripping felt hat. When he removed it, as he strode 
toward Grannitt’s table, the attorney gave an 
exclamation of surprise at the sight of his client’s 
bruised, swollen features. 

“Where did you get that black eye, Ches?” he 
demanded. “You look as if a bolt of lightning had 
hit you.” 

Legore resented the other’s attempt at facetious- 
ness. 

“If what hit me had hit you,” he growled, “you 
wouldn’t think ’twas so funny. I had a run-in this 
274 


THREE OF A KIND 


mornin’ with that black-haired feller who belongs to 
Lane’s gang. Met him down on the lot I just bought 
of Zack Brewster. He handed me out some second- 
hand talk an’ I lit into him. If he’d fought square 
I could hev licked him easy; but he used a dirty 
trick an’ downed me. Threw me clean over his 
head an’ nigh broke my neck against a tree trunk.” 

Grannitt stared at the other in genuine amazement. 
The ugly look on Legore’s face convinced the attorney 
that Hard Cash was not joking. 

“Threw you over his head? How in the world 
could a boy do that with such a heavy man as you?” 

The lumberman’s scowl foreboded no good to Jim. 

“I don’t know how; but I know he did it. Guess 
Twas one o’ those fancy wrasseling stunts they teach 
at college along with a lot of other useless trash. But 
I’ll fix him! He’ll be sorry he ever tried such a game 
on H. C. Legore.” 

“What do you want to do, Ches? Swear out a 
complaint against him for assault and battery?” 

“Not on your life! This thing’s too personal to 
go to law about. It’s jest a little private tiff ’twixt 
him an’ me; an’ when it’s settled it’s goin’ to be 
settled right!” 

The attorney suddenly lifted his head, listening 
like a wolf. Steps, stealthy but unmistakable, sounded 
on the platform outside. Somebody ascended the 
stairs quietly, and tiptoed along the hall. 

“Guess this is likely to be my busy night,” 
remarked Grannitt. 


275 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

He and the lumberman turned their faces toward 
the door. It was pushed open without any prelim- 
inary knock, and a man entered. His clothing was 
water soaked and stained with mud; his lean, sallow 
face was marked with anxious lines; but his eyes 
shone hard and bright. 

Grannitt eyed the newcomer with suspicion, but 
Legore accosted him familiarly, though with some 
surprise. 

“ Lookin’ for me?” he queried. “What’s the 
trouble? Anything special happened at the Peavey 
lot?” 

The man dropped, uninvited, into a chair, and 
coolly crossed one leg over the other. Little runnels 
trickled from his wet clothing along the floor. 

“Yes — and no,” he answered. “I’m looking for 
you; but, so far as 1 know, nothing particular’s hap- 
pened at the Peavey lot. At least, not right on the 
lot, though something’s taken place perhaps a mile 
from it that you might be interested to hear about. 
But that can wait. I’ve come in for a settlement. 
I’m leaving town to-night; and I want you to help 
me get out.” 

Legore’s features expressed both wonder and dis- 
pleasure. 

“ But I want ye to stop,” he remonstrated. “You 
agreed to stay as long as the mill was runnin’. I 
can’t allow ye to go off now an’ leave me in the 
lurch.” 

iHis face was beginning to grow red. There was 
76 


THREE OF A KIND 

the suspicion of a sneer on the other’s stolid counte- 
nance. 

4 ‘Sorry you can’t allow me to go; but I’m going, 
and that’s all there is to it. I’ve a pressing engage- 
ment fifty miles west of here, and it’s up to you to see 
that I get there not long after daybreak. But first 
we’ll have to square up.” 

The lumberman purpled and his voice grew louder. 

“I don’t know what crazy notion’s got into your 
head to start ye off like this; but if you go you won’t 
get a dollar more out o’ me; an’ as for my furnishin’ 
ye transportation, that’s too foolish to talk about.” 

“Oh, it is, is it? Perhaps it won’t seem so foolish to 
you when you hear what’s happened to-night.” 

Grannitt had been looking sharply from one 
speaker to the other, trying to catch the drift of 
their conversation. Now he took a hand. 

“As your friend has seen fit to come to my office 
for an interview with you, Chesley, might it not be 
well for me to know what the difference is between 
you? Perhaps I can suggest a way to settle it.” 

The stranger treated his proffer with scant cere- 
mony. 

“This matter’s going to be settled without calling 
in any pettifogger. And there’ll be no dickering. 
He’s coming up to the dough dish, and ’ll do just 
what I want.” 

The reference to pettifogging pricked the attor- 
ney’s dignity. 

“See here, my man,” he said, sharply, “you’re 
277 


19 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

welcome to come in here to talk with Mr. Legore, but 
you’ve got no call to insult me. So long as you’re in 
this room keep a civil tongue in your head!” 

The other sneered. 

“Grannitt,” he said, “that high and mighty stuff 
doesn’t go down with me. I don’t know whether you 
know or not who I am and what I’m in Barham for, 
but I’ve heard a lot about you and I feel as much 
acquainted with you as if I’d known you all my life. 
We might as well talk plain. Legore here may or 
may not have told you that he got me to come to 
town and to hire out with those boys to make ’em 
all the trouble I could. Now then, Hard Cash, 
haven’t I lived up to my part of the contract? 
Remember those spikes in the logs, and the cut belts, 
and all the little fires in the woods, and Ireson’s horse, 
and that moose-head, and on top of everything else 
the big fire that burned the mill! Remember how 
I’ve kept you posted about all that happened on the 
Peavey lot! Got any fault to find with me?” 

“Not a mite, not a mite!” replied Legore, with a 
sidelong glance at the amazed attorney, who had been 
struck silent by the stranger’s words. “You’ve done 
the job up brown. That’s why I don’t want ye to 
leave me now in the pinch of the game.” 

“Well, whether you want me to or not, I’m going,” 
was the short reply. “This place won’t be healthy 
for me any longer. I might as well tell you why. 
I’ve felt for some time that young Lane was bringing 
out too much ready cash from Parcherville on Fri- 
278 


THREE OF A KIND 


days, so to-night I held him up at the foot of Glad- 
den's Hill to relieve him of the pay .roll!” 

“What’s that!” shouted both his listeners at once, 
glaring at him in consternation. 

The lumberman’s red face actually paled. Gran- 
nitt leaned forward, gripping the table edge, moisten- 
ing his lips with his tongue, his leathery cheeks ashen. 
Only the stranger preserved his calmness. 

“Why, that’s highway robbery, man!” exclaimed 
the dismayed attorney. 

“Of course I know it,” returned the other, indif- 
ferently. “I’m not quite a fool. But you don’t 
suppose I’d waste my time down here for the beggarly 
amount Legore’s promised to pay me, do you? I’ve 
had my eye on two or three soft things on the side, 
such as the safes in Holway & Benner’s and the other 
stores; but Lane’s pay roll seemed to be the easiest 
proposition in sight.” 

The storm howled outside; the rain whipped 
against the windows; over the room brooded a thick, 
oppressive silence. Legore broke it. 

“Well,” he forced himself to say, “of course I’d 
never hire you to do such a thing, an’ you know it. 
That’s your own hunt. But seein’s you’ve gone 
ahead an’ kicked the bucket over, I guess we’d better 
settle up.” 

Pulling his wallet from his pocket, he counted out 
a bunch of bills. 

“Here’s your hundred dollars! Now we’re 
square.” 


279 


JIM" SPURLING, MILLMAN 

The other verified the sum, then thrust the roll 
inside his coat. 

“ Correct! Now how about helping me out of 
town?” 

The blood again suffused the lumberman’s face. 
His voice rose. 

“That’s your lookout ! I won’t lift a finger to help. 
After w 7 hat you’ve gone an’ done, I wash my hands 
of ye?” 

“Don’t talk so loud, Ches!” cautioned Grannitt. 
“No need to wake up everybody at the Corners. 
But he’s right, my friend. If you hadn’t told us 
you’d committed a robbery we could have aided you; 
now if we assisted you knowingly we’d be liable 
under the law. So you see it wouldn’t be safe.” 

The man laughed mirthlessly. 

“Safe!” he jeered. “After you hear all I’ve got to 
say, I guess you’ll realize it ’ll be a blamed sight safer 
for you to help me than not to help me. But first 
let’s come to an understanding right now about one 
thing! Don’t insult me again addressing me as your 
friend. Save your lying for your clients. I’ve been 
called a good many hard names, and swallowed ’em; 
but that’s one I won’t stand for. I’m no friend of 
yours, or of his, either. Now, Hard Cash, you 
needn’t think you can shunt me off so easy, after 
using me as a cat’s-paw. You’ll find I don’t need 
any guardian; so far, I’ve always been able to look 
out for myself without the help of any small-town 
baron like you. You needn’t swell up and turn 
280 


THREE OF A KIND 


purple; I’m not afraid of your bellowing. Eve been 
up against a good many men who could swallow you 
whole, without loosening their belts. As for you” — 
he swung toward Grannitt and spat contemptuously 
on the dusty floor — “you’re not the first shyster law- 
yer Eve twisted round my little finger !” 

The pair gazed on him, tongue tied, dread in their 
eyes. 

“Now,” he continued, as his voice hardened and 
a hollow note crept into it, “Eli tell you what we’re 
all three up against. I didn’t get that money of 
young Lane. He knocked me down, jumped over 
the wall, and started running through the pasture. 
I chased him and there were some shots fired. He 
went head first into that flooded limerock quarry, 
and I couldn’t find him. That’s about all.” 

“Good God!” exclaimed Milo, aghast, his horrified 
face paling. “You don’t mean to say the boy’s 
drowned !” 

“No, I don’t mean to say he’s drowned, and I 
don’t mean to say he isn’t. He went down. I 
waited half an hour and he didn’t come up. I 
searched round the whole quarry with my light, but 
I couldn’t find a trace of him. He may have hit his 
head on a rock, and I don’t care much if he did. If 
he’s dead he can’t tell anything; if he’s alive there’ll 
be the deuce to pay, for he recognized me,” 

He stopped. Both Legore and Grannitt were too 
much stunned to offer any comments. 

“So that’s why Em leaving Barham to-night,” 
281 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

resumed the speaker. “What’s done is done, and 
there’s no help for it. And if there’s trouble for me 
there’ll be trouble for you.” 

Still his hearers said nothing. 

“Why do you care so much for that boy all of a 
sudden?” asked the man, impatiently. “I shouldn’t 
think two land sharks like you’d be so chicken- 
hearted.” 

“I’m not thinking so much of the boy as I am of 
ourselves,” returned the lawyer. “If he’s drowned, 
where do we get off?” 

“Just about where I do if I’m caught,” observed 
the other, composedly. “That’s why it ’ll pay you 
good dividends to have me safe across two state lines 
at the earliest possible minute.” 

Legore was beginning to recover his self-possession. 

“Why do you keep pretendin’ we’re mixed up with 
you in this scrape?” he blustered. “We didn’t 
hev anything to do with robbin’ an’ drownin’ the 
boy!” 

Grannitt clutched at the straw of hope held out by 
his friend. 

“That’s so, Ches!” he approved. “There’s no 
right or justice in dragging us into a thing we had 
no part in.” 

The man was frankly disgusted. 

“Right! Justice! Don’t make me laugh, Gran- 
nitt! You forgot the meaning of those words years 
ago, even if you ever knew it. You talk like a pair of 
three-year-olds! But I guess I can hammer an idea 
282 


THREE OF A KIND 


or two into your skulls if they’re not too thick. 
Legore, everybody in Barham knows you’ve had it 
in for those boys ever since they came to town; 
you’ve talked too loud and too much. As for you,” 
he whirled on Grannitt, “the whole county knows 
what a Judas you are. You’d sell out your best 
friend (if you had one) for money. Now suppose 
I’m caught and have to stand trial. My testimony 
wouldn’t listen well in court. Perhaps it ’d be easy 
for you to explain how I happened to get on such con- 
fidential terms with you as to tell you about this 
robbery; perhaps it wouldn’t. The whole business 
at the Peavey lot ’d have to come out. I’ve a good 
imagination and I’d have plenty of time to use it 
before the trial. It wouldn’t hurt me any, and 
wouldn’t trouble my conscience, to confess a lot of 
things that weren’t so, if only I pulled in the pair of 
you. And I shouldn’t hire you to defend me, Gran- 
nitt. Oh no! I’d engage a real lawyer, young Lawton, 
for instance. Now you see why you’d better get me 
out of town to-night, and across to Augusta in time 
for the early train. It’s only about fifty miles, and 
a good auto and driver can make it easy. After I’m 
safe away you can cook up any kind of a story you 
please, to save your own skins.” 

The lawyer had followed this somewhat lengthy 
monologue with close attention. At its close he 
threw up the sponge. 

“ He’s right, Ches ! He’s got us ! And we might as 
well make the best of it. I’ll call Buzzell’s garage at 
283 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

Parcherville, and have them send out an auto right 
away.” 

He turned to his telephone. The robber stopped 
him. 

“Fine, Grannitt! You can see through a mill- 
stone if the hole’s big enough, and that’s how I tried 
to make it. But wait a minute! There’s another 
little matter of business to be attended to first. I 
need five hundred dollars. I didn’t pick it off young 
Lane, so I’ll have to get it from you. And I want 
it quick!” 

This was too much. Legore and the lawyer sprang 
to their feet, but they looked into the steady 
muzzle of an automatic, with a blue eye behind it, 
cold and hard as ice. 

“No fooling! Sit down! I might as well be hung 
for a sheep as a lamb. No use squirming or squeal- 
ing! I want five hundred in cash, and you’re going 
to get it for me, Grannitt, before I leave this office. 
If you two haven’t that amount with you, some- 
body can go out after it. I’m sure there’s that much 
in the place. I don’t care what lies you tell, or how 
or where you get it — only get it! And be lively! 
I’m in a hurry to start off!” 

Lumberman and lawyer looked helplessly at each 
other, and each read defeat in the other’s eyes. The 
round, black muzzle of the steady revolver admitted 
of no argument. Grannitt took the count. 

“I’ve less than fifty dollars here. How much 
have you, Ches?” 


284 



“i WANT FIVE HUNDRED IN CASH, AND YOU’RE GOING TO GET IT FOR 
ME, GRANNITT, BEFORE I LEAVE THIS OFFICE” 























THREE OF A KIND 


“’Bout a hundred an’ twenty-five,” admitted 
Legore, grudgingly. 

“That leaves you over three hundred to dig up 
somewhere,” said the highwayman, mercilessly. 
“Better get busy!” 

“Wouldn’t a check do for the balance?” 

“A check! Bosh! You’ll be offering to send me 
a money order next. This is a gentleman’s agree- 
ment and nothing goes but the cold cash. Haven’t 
you something in that safe?” 

“There’s a hundred dollars I took in to-day as part 
payment on a mortgage; but ’tisn’t mine and I 
don’t like to use a client’s money.” 

“Don’t let a little thing like that bother you any; 
it never has before. If you gave up everything that 
wasn’t yours, guess you wouldn’t have much of a 
bank account. That leaves you something better 
than two hundred to scrape up outside. Go out and 
hustle for it!” 

The attorney rose and began to put on his coat. 

“Gimme a cigar!” demanded the robber. 

He helped himself from the lawyer’s private box. 
Legore started to accompany his friend, but the 
revolver swung toward him and he slumped back into 
his chair. 

“No — you stay here, Hard Cash! You’re my 
security. I’ll feel better not to have you wanderin’ 
round loose. No knowing what kind of a scheme you 
two might cook up if you got out together. Rotten 
cigar, Grannitt! Should think a man with your 
285 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

money ’d smoke something better. Perhaps these 
are the kind you save for your friends. Now listen, 
you two! And this holds till we part company. 
There are six good reasons in this pistol why I’ll 
never be arrested. There’s one for each of you, if 
you need it. Better play fair!” 

The lawyer went out with a white face. During 
the half hour which Legore and his jailer spent alone 
neither spoke a word. But the latter had begun to 
show ill-concealed signs of restlessness when Gran- 
nitt returned. 

“Got the money?” demanded the bandit impa- 
tiently. 

“Yes.” 

“Then bunch all the stuff together and count it 
out on the table where I can see it. Don’t let it run 
short, or you’ll have to go out again.” 

The five hundred made a very respectable roll; 
covering his prisoners with his revolver, the man 
stuffed the bills into his pocket. 

“Now,” he said to Grannitt, “call that auto just 
as quick as you can raise Central!” 


XXI 


HARE AND HOUNDS 


HEN Budge threw himself headlong into the 



* V pitchy gloom that brooded over the flooded 
quarry, he was not merely obeying the instinct of self- 
preservation that impelled him to escape at any 
cost from the pursuing thug with the revolver; a 
definite plan had flashed into his brain. Twenty 
feet below the brink he struck the water with a 
mighty splash. As he went under, a burning twinge 
in his right shoulder told that the last bullet had 
found its mark. It did not prevent him from pad- 
dling vigorously, however, and his head soon emerged 
above the surface. 

He trod water, waiting for the next lightning flash. 
It came and went, but not too quickly for him to get 
his bearings. Previous swimming trips had familiar- 
ized him with the place. His eye caught a familiar 
ledge, and he struck out for it through the blackness. 
The pattering rain drowned the noise of his strokes. 
He swam as fast as he could, for he realized that he 
must get under cover quickly; the robber would soon 
be looking for him with his flashlight. 

His fingers brushed the ledge at the very instant 


287 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

that a shimmering beam shot from the bushes on the 
brink and played over the abandoned pit. Taking 
a long breath, Budge ducked under. A moment 
later he came up beneath the overarching roof of rock 
that Percy had discovered on their first swim in the 
quarry. 

There he clung in the darkness, waiting. His pur- 
suer would probably make a thorough investigation 
of the walls and surface before abandoning his search. 
Two or three minutes passed. Suddenly there was a 
footstep on the ledge directly over Budge’s head; a 
silvery blur in the black water beside him. The rob- 
ber was standing not a foot above. 

Budge grew tense. Had the man seen him before 
he gained his refuge? The seconds passed slowly. 
Then the gleam vanished and there was no further 
tremor in the rock. Minute after minute dragged by 
with leaden pace. Still Budge waited. Too much 
was at stake for him to leave his hiding-place too 
soon. He had no means of determining time, but he 
felt sure that a full hour must have elapsed ere, 
chilled to the bone, he drew himself out upon the 
rock. 

The storm was still raging. Climbing a few feet and 
then stopping, eyes and ears on the alert, painfully 
conscious of his wounded shoulder and his sprained 
ankle, Budge ascended the narrow path that led up 
the quarry wall. At its summit he hesitated, not 
daring to forsake the pit that had sheltered him until 
repeated lightning flashes had convinced him that 
288 


HARE AND HOUNDS 


the pasture was empty and that the robber had 
abandoned his pursuit. 

It was not far from nine o’clock when, fagged and 
tempest-beaten, he stumbled into the cabin where 
his three chums sat waiting anxiously. 

His story was soon told. A quick examination by 
Jim proved that the bullet had only furrowed his 
shoulder and that his ankle was but slightly sprained. 
A council was held immediately. At its close Jim 
made a call at another cabin. 

“Gone!” he reported on his return. “And taken 
all his stuff with him. Looks as if he didn’t intend 
to come back. What shall we do?” 

Warmth and rest were fast making Budge feel 
quite like himself and he was growing angrier every 
minute. 

“Do?” he almost shouted. “Swear out a warrant 
and have him arrested to-night, if we can find him! 
Whatever’s done will have to be done right off. He 
won’t hang round Barham a minute longer than he 
can help. Come on, Jim! Let’s go up to Kimball’s 
and ’phone Mr. Lawton ! I want Cal Buncy out here 
just as quick as gas can bring him.” 

“But your shoulder and ankle — ” 

“What’s a shoulder and ankle compared with 
smoking out a nest of crooks! I’ve a feeling that 
this whole thing’s going to come to a head to-night, 
and I’d like to help it along with both hands.” 

Lawton was called on the telephone and matters 
were speedily arranged. Jim and Budge returned to 
289 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

camp to await impatiently the arrival of the deputy. 
The rain had ceased, but the sky was still black with 
clouds. 

It was after half past ten when the boys heard a 
shouting in the direction of the county road. Jim 
flung open the cabin door, shedding a flood of light 
over the clearing, just as a man hurried past the 
boiler. It was Cal Buncy, panting, draggled, and 
mud-bespattered. 

“Got here as quick as I could, boys,” he gasped, 
staggering inside and dropping into a chair to re- 
cover his breath. 

“Where’s your auto?” asked Budge. 

“Back at the foot of Gladden’s Hill with both eyes 
put out. I’ve run all the rest of the way. I’m 
afraid that bird you’re after ’ll fly the coop before 
we can catch him.” 

“How’s that?” 

The deputy explained. 

“Mr. Lawton got out a warrant for his arrest, an’ 
had a Ford from Buzzell’s call to bring me out here. 
The driver told me that another car had left the 
garage for Barham about fifteen minutes before he 
did; said that Milo Grannitt had telephoned from 
the Four Corners that somebody there wanted to be 
taken over to Augusta to-night. I smelled a rat right 
away an’ told my man to hit the high places. He 
did — some of ’em. About six miles along we came 
on the other fellow, hauled up to change tires. I was 
never so pleased in my life. We left him behind, 
290 


HARE AND HOUNDS 


swearin’ till the air was blue, an’ plowed an’ skated 
an’ skidded along, till we got over Gladden’s Hill. 
At its foot we ran onto a motor cycle, an’ a second 
later hit a rope some kind friend had stretched across 
the road. We broke through it, but it put both our 
lamps out of commission. A car without lights 
to-night might as well be in the garage, so I left it 
an’ pushed on afoot. Pretty soon the other fellow 
came tearin’ by; he’d fixed his tire an’ was tryin’ to 
make up time. I jumped, an’ he went past like a 
ten-inch shell. By now he’s probably got his pas- 
senger an’ is kitin’ along toward Augusta.” 

The boys looked at one another helplessly. If the 
lights of the other car were smashed, it could not 
follow the fugitive across country on a night like that. 
Tears of unavailing rage stood in Budge’s eyes. 

“What’s the matter with using our own Ford?” 
asked Percy. 

“What, that old rattletrap! It ’d fall to pieces 
before we’d gone ten miles!” 

“I’ve been all over it,” said Percy, “and I’ll guar- 
antee it ’ll last longer than that. There’s plenty of 
gas and water aboard and it’s all ready to start.” 

A gleam of hope lighted the sheriff’s face. 

“Can you drive, young fellow?” he inquired. 

“I could once,” returned Percy, diffidently. 

“But I mean, can you drive fast?” 

“I have done such a thing,” admitted Percy. 

“Well, I want you to drive faster than you have 
ever driven before — as fast as you can.” 

_ ___ _ 291 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

Percy’s eyes glittered. 

“Do you mean it?” he asked. 

“Sure!” 

“All right! Come on!” 

They went outside to where the Ford stood 
between two cabins. Percy lighted the lamp, and 
cranked the car. 

“Climb aboard!” 

“O Lord !” groaned Lane. “ P. Whittington at the 
helm and given carte blanche ! And I haven’t made 
my will yet !” 

But he climbed into the rear seat with Jim. 
Throppv was to remain behind. Buncy took his 
place beside the driver. 

“There’s just about one more good ride in this pile 
of junk, and this is going to be that one,” said Percy. 
“All ashore that’s going ashore!” 

The Ford leaped from between the cabins. 

“I’ve been on the wrong side against you fellows 
every time before,” said the deputy. “This time I’m 
glad to be in right. We’ll get him!” 

The machine darted out through the wood road. 

An hour had passed since Grannitt had telephoned 
the Parcherville garage, and still the ordered car had 
not arrived. The three sitting glum and silent in the 
lawyer’s office could not understand the delay. The 
robber, eyeing his companions suspiciously, fingered 
his automatic and muttered an occasional oath 
between his set teeth. 


292 


HARE AND HOUNDS 

Finally the blast of a horn, the shimmer of lights, 
and a machine came to a stop beside the platform 
under the window. With a menacing glance at the 
others, the bandit laid his finger on his lips. 

“ Remember !” 

He stood up. 

“Put on your coats! You’re going with me. I 
don’t know what you might do by telephone if I 
left you behind.” 

A gesture with the revolver silenced protestation. 

“You go ahead of me, Hard Cash!” he ordered. 
“Grannitt, put out your light and come behind! 
You do the talking!” 

The three creaked and stumbled their way down 
to the platform. Grannitt, obeying a jab with the 
pocketed revolver, cut short the driver’s explanations 
and apologies. 

“We want you to take us over to Augusta. Drive 
as fast as you can.” 

Down the Parch erville road appeared a light; there 
was a distant sound suggestive of spring cleaning in a 
hardware store. Another car was coming, and at 
high speed. The robber understood, and immediately 
assumed active charge of the proceedings. 

“Take that front seat, Grannitt!” he ordered. 
“Jump in behind him, Legore! Quick!” 

The two obeyed. Their captor sprang in beside 
the lumberman. 

“Now give her the limit!” 

Though the driver was evidently somewhat sur- 
20 293 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

prised at the abruptness of the commands, he fol- 
lowed them to the letter. The machine leaped 
forward up the rough, muddy road. 

As the party in the Ford rattled and jolted into the 
Four Corners, they saw a red glimmer in front of 
Grannitt’s office. Buncy gave an exclamation of 
satisfaction. 

“There’s the car now! We’ve got him!” 

A moment later, as the light flitted away, he 
uttered a sharp cry of disappointment. 

“ He’s started ! Can’t you hit it up a little faster ?” 

“I’ll try,” responded Percy. 

The boy was putting forth all the skill and daring 
he could muster in his effort to extort the last scrap 
of speed from his crazy vehicle. The Ford jumped 
and bounced and shot from one side of the road to the 
other. The loose steering-gear flung him this way 
and that and shook him till his teeth rattled; but 
still he clung to the wheel. 

The road grew worse; it was full of turns and 
twists; mud-holes succeeded rocks, and rocks suc- 
ceeded mud-holes. Percy hung to his quarry like 
a hound on the trail of a rabbit. He held his own, 
and did well to do it; though he could not gain, 
still he did not lose. Buncy knew the road like a 
book; and his advice time and again saved the boy 
from disaster. 

“Better hold up a bit here; bad place in front. 
Slow now; ugly corner ahead. Mind that curve or 
294 


HARE AND HOUNDS 


you’ll go into the ditch! Straight and level now; 
open her wide!” 

So they tore on, up hill and down, over the mid- 
night country. The other driver knew the road, too. 
Thus far the race was a tie; a loose nut, a broken 
spring, a blow-out, a punctured tire might decide it. 
Given a straight, level course, the car in front would 
soon have outdistanced the other; but, thanks to 
Buncy’s coaching and Percy’s daring, almost reckless, 
driving, the Ford stuck like a leech. 

From his seat behind the driver the robber cast 
frequent glances backward; he did not relish the 
tenacity with which the pursuing machine held its 
own. 

“Can’t you shake that fellow?” shouted he into 
the ear of the man at the wheel. 

“I’m doing my best!” the other hallooed back. 
“’Tisn’t safe to go any faster! I’m liable to ditch 
her if I do! Whoever’s driving that old junk-shop’s 
got nerve. I wouldn’t dare take the chance he’s 
running!” 

“Can you turn off your rear light?” 

“Yes; but I wouldn’t want to; it’d be against the 
law.” 

“Hang the law! Turn it off! That ’ll make it 
harder for him to follow us.” 

The man hesitated. Something cold and round 
was jammed suddenly against the back of his 
head. 


295 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

“V m running this car and you’re taking your 
orders from me! Turn it off!” 

The terrified driver promptly pressed a button. 
Thereafter he obeyed orders without questioning 
them. 

Apparently the extinguishing of their rear lamp did 
not bother their pursuer, for the dancing headlights 
behind glowed as brightly as ever. They struck a 
particularly bad stretch of road and the Ford began 
actually to gain, rod by rod. The bandit noticed it 
immediately. 

“Guess it’s about time for me to teach that fellow 
a lesson,” he remarked. 

Leaning out from the side of the car, he began 
firing back. As shot after shot rang out, Legore and 
Grannitt sat shivering. At last the lawyer could 
restrain himself no longer. 

“Stop her, driver!” he shouted. 

The smoking muzzle was pushed suddenly into his 
face. 

“Shut up! If he does there’s a bullet in this for 
each of you!” 

Grannitt subsided in a cold sweat. Legore, 
hunched up in his corner of the rear seat, shook in 
palsied silence. 

Bullet after bullet whistled round the rocking 
Ford. Suddenly a ball shattered the glass wind- 
shield and its fragments flew about the car. 

“Anybody hurt?” shouted the deputy. 

296 


HARE AND HOUNDS 


“Face cut a little! That’s all!” responded Budge. 

Percy still held gamely to his course, and they 
gained steadily. Two other shots went wild. 

“You’ve got the real stuff,” observed Buncy, 
admiration in his voice. “Well, I can’t drive a car, 
but I can do something else; an’ I guess it’s about 
time I did it. This thing is altogether too one-sided. 
I didn’t live ten years in the West for nothin’.” 

Drawing his revolver and bracing himself, he leaned 
round the end of the ruined wind-shield and rested 
the weapon on his left arm, stiff as an iron bar. A 
sharp turn compelled the car in front to slow down 
and expose its broadside to them. Sighting quickly, 
Buncy pulled the trigger. 

Bang — bang — bang — bang! 

A dull report came back. The pursued machine 
lurched drunkenly. 

“There goes his right front tire!” yelled Percy. 

“That’s the one I aimed at,” said the sheriff. “ I’ll 
get the other at the next turn the opposite way. It’s 
close ahead!” 

“No! No!” cried Percy. “Don’t shoot again!” 

“Why not? I can hit it.” 

“I don’t doubt that; but they’ll have harder going, 
if only one is flat.” 

“How do you know?” 

“I’ve tried it — both ways.” 

Buncy desisted. Slowly but surely they crept up 
on their quarry. Ail at once on an abrupt curve the 
crippled machine swerved sharply, plunged into the 
297 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

ditch, plowed along for two or three rods, and came 
to a dead stop. 

The race was over! 

The Ford halted beside its beaten rival. The rob- 
ber, cursing, was wildly hunting on the floor of the 
car for the spare cartridges he had dropped. Buncy 
covered him. 

“Throw out your gun!” he warned. “If you 
don’t, my next shot ’ll hit something thicker and 
more solid than rubber.” 

Sullenly the man obeyed. As the deputy scanned 
the interior of the machine, his voice told his surprise. 

“What! Two more passengers aboard? Tumble 
out, gentlemen, so that we can see who you are.” 

The four lined up in the glare of the Ford’s head- 
lights, the driver with alacrity, the other three 
reluctantly. Buncy called the roll. 

“Bert Grafton! You couldn’t help drivin’ that 
car as you were told to do; you can step one side. 
Who’s next? Mr. Grannitt! And Mr. Chesley 
Legore! Gentlemen, I’m surprised to find you in 
such bad company. And here’s the man I’ve got the 
warrant for — Rodney Graff!” 


HALF A MILLION FEET 



RAFF, millman, spy, and would-be robber, cast 


an uncertain glance around, as if meditating 
flight. But the deputy’s ready revolver swung up 
and checkmated him. 

“Feel in my right-hand pocket, Lane,” directed 
the officer, “and see what you can find!” 

Budge drew out a pair of handcuffs. 

“Now snap ’em on him!” 

A moment later Graff’s wrists were securely man- 
acled. Buncy drew a long breath. 

“That makes me feel a sight easier. He’s a bad 



Budge could not help reproaching his former em- 


ployee. 


“I’m sorry, Graff,” said he. “I liked you and 
we’ve always tried to use you white. What made 
you do it?” 

The man’s sullen face hardened, but he vouchsafed 
no reply. The sheriff’s seriousness changed to 
jocularity. He extended his hand to Percy. 

“Much obliged, young fellow!” 

Whittington returned his grip. 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

“ Don’t mention it! What fbr? ,, 

“For lettin’ me out alive. I’ve done some fast 
ridin’ in my day, but I’ve never perforated the 
atmosphere at such a rate as I’ve traveled to-night. 
Especially in a car like that!” 

Percy almost blushed at the compliment. 

“Thank you,” he replied modestly. 

“He can put it all over you drivin’, Bert,” con- 
tinued the deputy. 

Grafton had been looking at the Ford. 

“I’ll say you’re right,” he answered. “I take off 
my hat to him.” 

While Buncy stood guard over his prisoner, the 
boys aided the Parcherville driver in extricating his 
machine from the ditch. Fortunately it was unin- 
jured. Turning the cars around proved to be some- 
what difficult; but at last it was accomplished, and 
the party started back for Barham, the garage 
auto ahead. Legore occupied the front seat with 
Grafton; while the deputy and his handcuffed cap- 
tive sat behind. In the Ford Grannitt rode beside 
Percy; and Budge and Jim took again the places they 
had had during the chase. The return trip consumed 
a long time, and it was not until the small hours of 
the morning that the two cars rolled into the Four 
Corners. 

During the ride Buncy had been considering what 
attitude he should take toward Legore and Grannitt. 

“I don’t know as I’ve any authority to do or say 
anything to you two,” he said. “But the fact of 
300 


HALF A MILLION FEET 


your being on the same car with a criminal fleein’ 
from arrest doesn’t look any too good to me.” 

“We couldn’t help ourselves,” protested the law- 
yer. “He made us come at the point of his 
revolver.” 

The sheriff rubbed his forehead. 

“The thing’s beyond me to unsnarl,” he confessed. 
“I don’t see as I can stop you from goin’ home; but 
the law may have something to say to you later.” 

For the first time since his arrest the prisoner 
opened his lips. 

“You’re just right on that point,” he remarked, 
significantly. 

Lumberman and attorney vanished in the dark- 
ness. Buncy yawned. 

“Now for Parch erville!” said he. 

“Don’t you want one of us to go with you?” asked 
Jim. 

The deputy laughed. 

“No, thanks! Guess I can land our friend safe in 
jail without gettin’ into any muss. He isn’t the first 
crook I’ve ridden with. Let her go, Bert!” 

The machine whirled off; the Ford followed more 
slowly. The boys turned in at the mill road and 
soon reached their cabin. After giving Throppy a 
brief account of their ride they went to sleep. 

The next morning they were at their tasks as usual. 

College was to begin the 25th of the month, 
hence the plant had only two weeks more to run. 
The boys threw themselves into their duties with 
301 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

renewed zeal. Jim took Graff’s place and every- 
thing went swimmingly. It was easy to work 
through the clear, cool, pleasant days, and they 
made long hours. 

Merrithew came over one forenoon with a letter; 
he seemed deeply affected. He went straight to 
Percy. 

“I’ve just received this from your father,” he said. 
“ You must have thought that I acted strangely a few 
weeks back, when I refused to meet him. Now I’ll 
tell you why. A good many years ago I invested 
about five thousand dollars, all I had, in a small rail- 
road that was backed by him. The bottom dropped 
out and the stock became worthless. That was one 
of the things that drove me from the town where I 
was living off here into the woods. I laid the blame 
on him, thinking that he had deliberately swindled 
the stockholders. I didn’t know that he had suf- 
fered with the others and that he had determined to 
make good their losses as soon as he was able. 
When that time came he had lost track of me, and 
he would never have found me if you boys hadn’t 
taken hold of this mill. So you see I’ve another 
reason for being obliged to you. He’s sent me this 
check for the original sum with full interest to 
date.” 

Percy’s eyes dwelt on the strong signature, 
scrawled at the bottom of the blue slip that the 
hermit displayed. 

“That old fist looks good to me,” he said. “Some 

302 


HALF A MILLION FEET 


people call J. P. a hard man. He may be, sometimes; 
but he’s a square one. I ought to know.” 

“Tm sure you’re right,” replied Merrithew. 
“Later I hope to see him and thank him personally.” 

“You’ll probably have the chance,” said Percy. 
“We’re not going to let you forget us after we go 
away.” 

Henry Ireson approached Budge that noon. 

“I’ve got some news for you. Legore and Grannitt 
have both left town!” 

“Where have they gone?” 

“Don’t know that, or when they’re coming back, 
if they ever come at all! If they don’t, Barham ’ll 
never miss ’em. Guess they’re afraid to wait here 
until Graff has his trial. Understand that Milo’s 
going to be disbarred, anyway, so he won’t be able to 
practice in this state again.” 

That night the boys tramped out to the old 
quarry for a final swim, and Budge went over the 
hold-up once more for their benefit. He had already 
recovered his motor cycle, which was little the worse 
for its collision with the rope. 

The next day was Friday; and that night the plant 
was to be shut down and the men paid off. In the 
afternoon Lane made his last trip to Parcherville 
and he and Lawton closed the account at the bank. 

“I won’t say good-by,” remarked the lawyer. 
“Graff’s trial is set for this term and you boys ’ll 
have to be here as witnesses. So we’ll see each other 
again.” 

303 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

Budge returned to Barham earlier than usual. As 
he entered the Peavey lot a long, shrill whistle 
announced that the day’s work was over and that 
the season had ended. 

The men were paid off at once. Those who lived 
near went home; the others remained overnight in 
their cabins. Saturday was spent in dismantling the 
mill and putting it into such condition that the party 
who next took hold of it would find it in good shape. 
Budge sold his motor cycle to young Tug Prince, giv- 
ing the boy a good trade. 

An unexpected visitor in the forenoon was Gordon 
McAuliffe. He broached the purpose of his call 
without delay. 

“I knew you suspected me of making most of the 
trouble you’ve had about this plant; and I don’t 
blame you for thinking so, for I was pretty disagree- 
able a good part of the time. But I’ve never done 
you a cent’s worth of damage, and I wouldn’t want 
you to go away feeling that I had. I knew what 
you fellows were up against with Ches Legore. I’d 
had my quarrels with him; and he didn’t like me any 
better than he liked you. You did right to discharge 
me. I was in earnest in offering to go on Whitting- 
ton’s bond and it hurt my feelings some when you 
wouldn’t have me. But I don’t wonder that you 
thought I was trying to put up some game on 
you.” 

“McAuliffe,” returned Budge, “I’ll be honest and 
say that I didn’t like you and that I thought you 
304 


HALF A MILLION FEET 

were at the bottom of most of our troubles. I know 
you’re telling the truth. We’ll let bygones be by- 
gones.” 

They shook hands. 

Sunday was a day of rest on the Peavey lot. On 
Monday morning Briggs and Doggett started for 
New Hampshire, where they had a three months’ job 
in another portable mill. By noon nothing remained 
to be done about the plant, and the boys were in the 
mood for a final outing. 

“ Let’s take a row in Jim’s boat,” proposed Percy. 

They spent a pleasant two hours, paddling and 
drifting on the blue waters of Lake Agawam. On 
coming ashore they all went up to the farmhouse to 
present the boat to Joshua Kimball and to thank his 
wife for the baked beans and doughnuts they had 
enjoyed so much during the summer. When supper 
was over that evening, and the dishes had been 
washed and put away, a council was held to listen to 
Budge’s report of the results of their three months’ 
work. 

“No need of going into details,” said Lane. “You 
know ’em as well as I do. But here’s the total! In 
round numbers, half a million feet; in round figures, 
five thousand dollars clean profit! That means 
twelve hundred and fifty apiece, after all bills have 
been paid. Not so bad for thirteen weeks! It ’d 
have been considerably more if Legore had let us 
alone; but we haven’t much reason to kick.” 

The other three were of the same opinion. 

305 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

“You’ve been as good as your word, and better, 
Budge,” declared Jim. “I’m mighty glad we came, 
not only for what we’ve earned to help us along 
in our college course, but for what the summer has 
meant to Throppy. That’s better than everything 
else.” 

“Let’s send for Mr. Merrithew,” proposed Percy, 
“and wind up with a rousing good time.” 

The hermit, summoned by Throppy, came over 
gladly. 

“I don’t know what I’ll do when you boys are 
gone,” he said. “I’m afraid you’ve spoiled me for 
living out here alone. Guess I’ll have to move up 
into the village, or maybe travel about a little.” 

“If you do, you must come to see us at Warbur- 
ton,” said Jim. “We’ll put you up for as long as 
you may care to stay.” 

They sat late, singing and telling stories, and 
when the party broke up they all walked back with 
Merrithew to his cabin. The stars were sharply 
brilliant in a dark blue sky, and a cool breeze was 
soughing through the pines. Never had the dim, 
fragrant woods seemed more peaceful and beautiful. 

The next morning dawned clear and bracing. 
The boys were astir early, preparing for their depar- 
ture: Merrithew came over to assist them. Their 
baggage was brought out and loaded into the Ford, 
and amid a chorus of good-bys they jolted out of the 
clearing for the last time. As they went their eyes 
dwelt on the silent mill with its black boiler and 
306 


HALF A MILLION FEET 


machinery and smokeless stack; the high, yellow 
sawdust pile; the broad slopes, rough with stumps; 
the smutted stretch reaching down to the sapphire 
lake; and the little cabins, with the hermit before 
them waving his farewells. 

A turn in the road and the picture disappeared. 
They whirled out through the sticking-ground, 
between piles of boards still unhauled, and soon were 
speeding down the county road. At Holway & Ben- 
ner’s they turned the old Ford over to Henry Ireson, 
to whom it had been sold. As they helped Zenas 
Strout load their baggage on the Edginton stage they 
looked across the street to the closed office of Milo 
Grannitt, departed with his client, Hard Cash 
Legore, for fields unknown. 

Zenas cracked his whip and spoke to his horses; 
the stage started. Soon Barham Four Corners lay 
behind them. On the summit of the hill that com- 
manded a prospect of the basin the driver reined in 
his team. 

“Take a last look,” he invited. 

The boys did. They saw the broad hollow 
rimmed with wooded hills; the scattered farms with 
their white houses; the village and its spires; Mount 
Nebo; Lake Agawam; and the devastated waste of 
the Peavey lot. They gazed long. 

“Seen enough?” asked Zenas. 

They nodded, and again the stage rolled on. The 
boys’ thoughts and conversation turned toward the 
future. Three more years of college lay before them, 
307 


JIM SPURLING, MILLMAN 

and then the broader field of life. But, whatever the 
struggles in which they might engage thereafter, the 
three months they had just passed would never be 
forgotten; for they had been down, but not out; they 
had met with reverses, but they had never acknowl- 
edged defeat; they had fought a hard fight clean 
through to the finish, and had won. 


THE END 











D 


r. r\ 

v- '*•' 




0005St J 70t,50 

9 


